The Theory
by Conviction
Summary: “Cupid himself couldn’t make me fall in love with Granger, he had boasted. Unfortunately for Draco, Cupid disagrees.
1. Ways To Die Prematurely

Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned.

And, indeed, most of the students at Hogwarts that day that had the unfortunate experience of seeing Hermione blow down the hallways in a huff after Potions class had ended for the day were of that opinion. Knowing looks passed back and forth, and a few sniggered at the dramatic scene of her billowing off with her books, waiting for Harry and Ron to eventually come skidding down the stone floors after her. It didn't really take a genius to figure out what had most likely occurred, seeing as it happened on a fairly regular basis.

Professor Snape, no doubt, had been snarky and taken points from various Gryffindors for the grievous offense of breathing in his presence, and from Hermione for being the only one among them that had actually bothered to stay up late and study the night before. Neville had, despite Hermione's best efforts, probably created some horrible monstrosity of a failed potion, which had either caused him to sprout an extra set of ears or turned the floor into taffy or something equally ridiculous, and been cowered by the greasy potions instructor (not really all that much of a remarkable feat).

The incident had, most likely, caused the disgustingly pratty Draco Malfoy to begin teasing him ruthlessly, a sound that mysteriously seemed to slip under the radar of their teacher. It was odd, considering that he was considered to have quite sensitive ears, and could detect the slightest whisper against his homework assignments or a murmured hint from Hermione to one of her less able friends. While Hermione was a logical, reasonable (if a bit obsessive) creature with her studies, she was a bit less restrained in her impulsive, emotional responses.

A spar of words had ensued the instant class ended, with the (absurdly) brash Hermione loosing her formidable temper at the grinning Malfoy as he continued to jeer while Neville packed up his books. With a toss of her unmanageable mass of disobedient curls, Hermione had stormed out of the classroom before she was tempted to unleash a hex to end the ages (and destroy that perfectly smug little nose of his).

Draco and his cohorts, meanwhile, set off in the direction of their next class, laughing and joking with each other. The conversation was pretty pointless, just a few teenagers messing around. They weren't intending to bring about any cosmic displeasure or dare the wrath of the gods. That sort of thing generally doesn't tend to be something one does intentionally, in any case. Few people wake up and ponder ways in which they might manage to get themselves smitten by a lightning bolt.

Though Hermione would have delighted in the sight of him with his perfectly styled hair completely fried with the electricity and his eyebrows smoking.

For now, however, his hair still remained perfectly in place. "It's no wonder she doesn't have a boyfriend," Draco sneered as he adjusted the strap of his bag, speaking about the infuriating bookworm they had just parted ways with.

"I don't think there's a girl at this school I would want to go out with less then her," Crabbe remarked, then paused, quickly trying to retrace his words and assure himself that they did, indeed, make sense. He nearly tripped over his own feet. Apparently thinking and walking at the same time was a feat a little too advanced for his limited cognitive skills.

"Not even Amanda Winther?" Goyle asked, referring to a Ravenclaw that was short, stubby, currently stuck wearing braces, and had right eye that tended to drift in toward her nose every now and again.

Crabbe considered this a mount. "Well, maybe if it was just a snog. But to have to sit and listen to that chatterbox Granger drone on and on about house elf rights? I think I'd rather be chopped up into sizable bits and fed to the giant squid."

"Why are we even having this conversation?" Draco demanded, disgusted with the turn the conversation had taken. He quickened his pace, taking the lead a step or so ahead of his companions.

"Still a little sensitive over the whole "Romeo" thing?" Goyle asked smugly, thwacking the slighter boy across the shoulders.

"Sod off," Draco hissed.

"What was that? What do you mean "Romeo"?" Crabbe demanded, hated being left out of what appeared to be a very intriguing matter.

"Nothing," Draco insisted, trying to instill enough fear through the sheer force of his gaze in Goyle's general direction as to silence him.

No such luck.

"Pansy laughed so hard she right nearly burst into tears. One of her friends overheard some of the girls from Hufflepuff talking about Draco and his fighting with Granger and one of the girls said that she thought that, of all the people at Hogwarts, the two of them would be most like Romeo and Juliet, if they ever managed to fall in love, because of their different families and the political tension and everything."

Crabbe eyed Draco critically a moment. "You would be the worst Romeo ever, hands down."

"Thanks, Crabbe."

"They were just some stupid third year Hufflepuffs," Goyle shrugged, "I'm sure Pansy hexed the one who dreamed up such a notion.

"I hope so. Romeo and Juliet were both complete morons, and their tale is more tragic stupidity then it is romantic," Draco said as they rounded a corner. "Not to mention the fact that she's a self-righteous little bitch."

"And the whole 'I hate you to the very depths of my soul' thing you two have going on," Crabbe added.

"I don't care what these starry-eyed twits say about love," Draco said with a cold certainty, "You love those who are worth your notice. That mudblood has nothing to offer me."

Crabbe and Goyle nodded their approval. Draco smirked, a steely look of superiority as they entered the Great Hall.

"Cupid himself couldn't make me fall in love with Granger."

Little did he know it, but those confidently spoken words had a drastic effect, one that was going to produce consequences of a great and terrible nature. The gods do not appreciate such boasts.

And so, high above in the great palace of Olympus, Cupid leapt to his feet out of the depths of his leather La-Z Boy arm chair (complete with gold plated cup holder), sputtering popcorn in indignation as he flung the rest of his snack haphazardly about.

"You would challenge me?" he yelled, throwing a handful of kernels at the Heavenly Broadcasting screen. He plunked back down into his seat, munching thoughtfully as he stared at the three boys as they consumed their lunch with gusto and complete naivete of the wrath they had invited down upon themselves. Cupid enjoyed watching the drama of Hogwarts, where the thick population of students combined with the spark of magic made for an interesting source of entertainment.

How dare the mortal issue a challenge against him. He was arrogant and handsome, traits that tended to go together, and he studied the images flashing by intently. He would teach this youth a lesson.

Cupid smirked. Besides, he had always thought that the school looked to be a vastly amusing place.

"Let's test this theory of yours, Draco Malfoy."


	2. Matchmaking is all about strategy

Lavender Brown cut off mid sentence in the midst of an in-depth whine about her homework assignment, jawing slackening half a second as she stared beyond the other girls' shoulders. "Who on earth is _that_?"

'That' happened to be none other than the newest transfer to Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, Aiden Brant. He was roguishly handsome, if he did say so himself—tousled blonde curls, striking green eyes, and that classic mischievous smirk that lingered constantly on his lips. With a quick wink he breezed past the small flock of females, acting oblivious to the amount of swooning that was occurring.

He was dressed in first class robes, and gave off an appearance of wealth and good breeding as he strode through the halls, drawing curious glances along the way. The first year that was leading him to the Slytherin quarters kept looking back over his shoulder as if nervous that he was going to lose Aiden at any moment. His name was Michael or Mark or something like that, and he was a shrewd looking little guy that clearly took his duty very seriously.

Aiden rolled his eyes when the younger boy wasn't looking; he had no real respect for or understanding of these fastidious, punctilious types. He was more of a creature of impulse. He was fairly impressed with the place, though it didn't show as he affected a cool, unconcerned air, following along through the painting up through the regally decorated common room. For a common room inhabited by teenagers, it had a rather grown up feeling that he assumed bore much resemblance to the students in the particular house he had been sorted into.

He made his way up the stairs in the direction he had been pointed to, and opened the door marked for seventh years. Not too bad, he thought to himself as he surveyed his new—albeit shared—domain with a satisfied smirk, hands planted on his hips, taking in the curtained beds and desks. He spied his trunk in front of a bed, and pulled aside a curtain, pressing down on the mattress experimentally.

Now, to locate his victi—er… targets. He turned, and by some act of providence, was spared the arduous task of searching out Mr. Malfoy amidst the rather large castle. "Hullo," he offered as a greeting with a friendly smile, sticking his hand out. "I'm Aiden Brant, pleased to meet you."

Draco seized the newcomer up carefully for a moment, then shook hands with him firmly. "I'm Draco Malfoy. This is Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe. Welcome to Slytherin." Aiden smirked at him for a moment, and Draco raised an eyebrow in question. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just nice to finally be here. Long train ride, and all that. Are they serving dinner soon?"

"In about an hour or so," Draco said, dumping his schoolbag by his bed and raking a hand through his blonde hair as he settled into a chair.

"Damn, I'm starving," Aiden grumbled as he undid the buttons down his vest, dropping it onto his coverlet. "Would you mind if I hung out with you gents before then?"

Crabbe and Goyle looked quickly to Draco, who considered the question before nodding imperially. Well, it was clear who was the leader around these parts. "Sure, we'll show you around a bit. Introduce you to the others."

"Thanks," Aiden changed quickly into his school uniform, giving his tie a sharp, pleased little tug before turning to face the others. "All set?"

"Let's go," Draco tossed aside his textbook as he rose from the armchair, Crabbe and Goyle falling in behind him. Aiden tried not to snicker at their formation, and tucked his hands into his pockets, nonchalantly strolling beside them.

Alright, time to focus. Operation: Destroy The Boastful Little Snot had officially commenced. Now… to get them together… It would take careful planning and maneuvering. Draco was a pretty arrogant guy, and he seemed to consider himself superior to, well, just about every other person on the planet. This was certainly going to put all his skills to the test.

No worries. He wasn't Cupid for nothing.

Draco probably would have throttled him for the thoughts and schemes currently going through his head. Or, at least, he would have attempted. And failed. Being a god did have its perks.

Also, fortunately, Draco was not gifted with Legilimency.

His first move, he decided, would be strictly to observe. He wasn't sure how long that was going to last (with his track record, probably not long), but this was a rather special case, one that required much delicacy and planning, and he was determined that he could hold out and study his opponents carefully before taking any definitive sort of action.

At some point, he was going to have to locate Miss Hermione Jane Granger. Luckily, the school didn't seem to have a vast amount of students, so he figured he could sniff things out with a minimal amount of attention drawing. Besides, they were bound to have classes together. He had managed to slip into all of the classes that Draco and Hermione shared, and an Herbology course that was purely for his own amusement. An entire room of barely trained magicians and an assortment of deadly plants? That could definitely prove to be interesting.

And if it wasn't, than he could help the drama along a bit.

"Where are we going?" he asked conversationally as Draco threw the doors open with a flourish. My, but the boy did have a flair to everything he did. Almost… rehearsed, really. It was a shame they didn't offer classes like that at any school, with lessons like "how to walk imperiously", "how to strike terror into the souls of others with a mere glance" and "how to properly swish one's cloak when turning". Aiden felt such things should be mandatory material for any aspiring dark lord or middle-management material.

"Out to the Quidditch pitch. You can see the team practice and a few of our friends should be there watching the practice." Draco explained, while Crabbe and Goyle looked bored and more then a little weary of reining in their jokes and lax behavior for a new acquaintance. "Where are you from, anyway? It's a bit odd to transfer over for your last year."

"My Dad was doing a lot of work for the ministry abroad, so I spent most of the time traveling with him—boring stuff, really, just setting up offices and all that, but we still got to visit some pretty cool places," Aiden shrugged, "Mum wanted me to finish here, back home." It really was quite remarkable how easily he lied.

"Where have you been?" Crabbe asked, trying not to appear too impressed.

"Oh, lots of places. China, Japan, Australia, a few months in South Africa, Russia, Portugal, Greece… I dunno, I can't remember everywhere we've been at this point."

"Do you have all sorts of trinkets and stuff from those countries?" Goyle was clearly in awe. Aiden congratulated himself on earning the worship of a complete moron.

"Yeah, but it's at home. I couldn't bring most of it, but I have a couple things I kept that came from Greece. That was my favorite country."

"Greece?" Goyle could clearly think of better and more exotic countries then one that sounded like the putrid grime that lived in their Potion's professor's hair.

"Yes, it's beautiful there. Hardly anything like here. I mean, not that it isn't lovely here, it's just… different. And the cooking," Aiden patted his rumbling stomach ruefully. "Oh, the cooking there is to _die_ for. Course, right now I'd trade my soul for a decent chunk of bread and a piece of chicken."

Draco smirked over his shoulder at the newcomer, "Are you much of a flyer?"

You have no idea, Aiden thought with a mysterious smile. "I'm not bad."

"Draco here used to be on the Quiddie team," Crabbe said proudly, thwacking Draco across the shoulders. Draco glared at him, but it was ignored. Draco proceeded to subtly (or not so subtly) tell about his glory days on the Quidditch team, much of it resulting in him whining about the wretched Harry Potter.

Aiden was bored. The stupid git (Draco) introduced him to everyone, including his… Pansy Parkinson. Aiden wasn't quite sure how to define her, because he sure as hell wasn't going to accept that He of the Oversized Ego already had a girlfriend. Wrenches thrown into the plot were not to be realized as… well, real. If he didn't accept a problem, then it didn't exist. End of story.

Or, in all actuality, just the beginning.

In any case, he was quite sure his stomach was on the verge of imploding on itself from lack of food, he had a headache from the damp cold and making pointless conversation with people he didn't know, and he still hadn't managed to get anywhere within the vicinity of a Gryffindor, let alone the elusive Miss Granger. He wanted noodles, and he wanted them now. Nothing would feel right in the world until he had ingested enough carbohydrates to make a dietician cry.

And if there happened to be meatballs, it just might bring him to tears.

* * *

I'm still trying to get a feel for the characters and how I'm going to write them for the story. I really like Cupid, though, he's a ton of fun. 


	3. And Truth shall set you free

The food at Hogwarts had been deemed acceptable by the standards of one Aiden Brant.

It wasn't exactly the fare he was used to, but it was reasonably decent. More importantly, during the meal he had spotted Target #2: Hermione Granger. He hadn't taken much time to observe her before embarking on his challenging and perilous quest, but in his brief and careful spying during dinner he had observed that...

1. She liked mashed potatoes

2. She seemed a tad bossy

3. She was (thankfully) not completely unfortunate looking

4. But her hair was decidedly…pouffy

5. There were two boys sitting next to her that seemed to be her close friends, though he hadn't detected any signs of her being claim, which was encouraging

It wasn't the best of circumstances, but he had certainly had worse. He flopped back onto his bed, mind whirling. What he needed now was a game plan.

There was a version of this sport that merely required slipping one of his personal concoctions into both of their drinks and then locking them in close quarters together, but that seemed a bit beneath him for this particular case for several reasons. The first being that they were still in school, and that was a _bit_ over the top. Secondly, it seemed unlikely that, after the effects of the potion had warn off, they would be any more amiable then they were now, which led to reason number three: that Draco had specified "love" as being the challenge, not "lust".

Lust was easy. Lust was physical attraction, but, while it was involved in love, it was not sufficient on its own. Cupid would settle for "like", but having them sleep together was not his goal on this excursion. He felt it was more of a challenge, this way.

He was in pretty good company with Draco and his dense cronies, but Hermione was going to be an entirely different problem. There were these invisible lines drawn all around the school of what areas belonged to which houses, which people could cross them and who could speak with whom. It was all terribly frustrating. He had tried to introduce himself to one of the Gryffindors, and Draco had looked at him like he had violated some cardinal rule of the universe.

He had been grabbed, dragged aside, and questioned about his "loyalties" and "purity". Aiden was not stupid, and had quickly lied his way through the interrogation, satisfying Draco's concerns. But the ordeal had opened up an entirely different can of worms: Hermione was a muggleborn. That was definitely going to be one of the two top obstacles to his matchmaking ploy.

Aiden had not been blind to this arrangement when he entered the school, but it had been a while since he had muddled in relationships spanning the debate (you don't think Andromeda and Tonks fell in love without any help, now do you?) and he had forgotten how much he detested the issue. It was ridiculous, really.

But it did make for interesting plot developments.

A grin spread across his face. He could do it, even if Hermione was a righteous little rule follower and Draco was an arrogant whiny snot. There had been less likely couples throughout the centuries that had gotten together.

Right?

He just couldn't think of any right now. He settled onto the bed, digging through all the famous stories of screwed up love that he had managed to make work despite massive issues.

Tristan and Isolde?

Tristan had killed her uncle, and she had nearly sliced Tristan's head off for it. And yet they had managed to fall in love. That had to count for something.

No, wait… that had ended tragically. And there had been a love potion involved, in any case.

He would think up a whole list later, to make himself feel better.

A hissing sound followed by a faint pop caused him to sit up. A girl looking to be about his own age was standing there, looking a bit out of place in a sweeping green dress, her long brown curls hanging around her shoulders and a quizzical expression in her golden eyes. "What on earth are you doing here?" she asked, surveying her surroundings carefully.

"I could ask the same thing" he said with a clearly forced smile, eyes dark. "Aletheia."

"You're not meddling with these mortals again, are you? Honestly, Eros, if you screw up like you did in Istanbul last week, I swear…"

"Relax. I won't. Love-hate relationships are my specialty."

"Tell that to all the tragedies you leave in your wake," she said, folding her arms across her chest and fixing him with a disapproving look.

He shot her a glare, grabbing ahold of his bedpost and swinging out of the bed. "Could you please do something about your clothing before someone comes in here?"

"Fine," she snapped her fingers, and instantly changed into a neat set of Hogwarts robes. "There, happy?"

"Ravenclaw, how quaint," he said, glancing at the badge on her chest.

"Your mother's looking for you again," she informed him, "How long do intend on being here?"

"I dunno yet," he shrugged, smiling mischievously at her knowing full she didn't like it when he looked like he was up to something. Probably because ninety-nine times out of a hundred he was. She looked about ready to launch into a lecture, and suddenly he had a flash of inspiration (which was divine inspiration, of course, coming from the depths of his own glorious soul) and he gaped suddenly with shock and joy.

Aletheia was disturbed by the sudden change of expression on his face. "What?'

"It's perfect!" he exalted, congratulating himself on his brilliance.

"What is?"

"You!"

That cynical left brow of hers was rising steadily toward her hairline. "Excuse me?"

"You're a girl," he declared proudly.

"Yes," she said slowly, cautiously, not appreciating the way he was suddenly seizing her up critically. "Your powers of observation astound me, as always."

"Look, I can't get to Hermione because the blokes in this house think I'm pureblood and there's vicious rivalry going on anyways between Gryffindors and Slytherins. They say it's because Gryffindors are brave and reckless, and the Slytherins like to look out for themselves, but the real reason is that they're both cheaters and they hate each other for it," he gushed quickly, beginning to pace excitedly back and forth. "Anyway, I'm trying to set her up with Draco Malfoy, my bunkmate. You can get into the Gryffindor house and help me from that angle."

"And why would I want to do that?" she asked with an incredulous shake of her head.

"Because you can't resist the opportunity to keep an eye on me."

"Ha ha. No, really."

"Come on. It's either that or I get desperate and start using love potions."

""Hermione Granger? Are you mad?"

"Of course. Love is hardly sane." He reached for his outer robes, fastening the clasp. "I'm going to find Draco, you square everything up with Dumbledore and we'll be set. Cheers."

Aletheia groaned. "Eros…"

He paused by the door, flashing her a charming smile. "Oh, and you might want to do something about those eyes. Gold isn't a particularly common color amongst mortals."

* * *

I have no idea whether or not I'm going to deal with the whole Voldemort/war thing that's supposed to be brewing in the background during all of this. If I happen to find a way to mesh it in with things or (if I'm extremely fortunate) I manage to find some way to make it matter to the story plot, then kudos for me. I don't know who's going to end up with whom yet. 

Aiden: what do you mean? Of course we know how it's going to end. I'm brilliant.

He's sure, but I still have my doubts. We'll see what happens.

Oh, and some quick notes about the mythology portion.

Eros/Cupid/Aiden... Eros is the greek name for Cupid.

and Aletheia is Greek for truth. She's an original character, but she's supposed to embody logic/wisdom.


	4. Morning of the Living Dead

Aiden stared mournfully into the mirror beside his bed, tousling his hair half-heartedly. "First day of class. Alright," he said slowly, trying to convince himself to get up. "Let's get breakfast."

"You always this out of it in the morning?" Draco asked snidely as he came in immaculately dressed, toweling his hair dry.

"Ugh, yes," Aiden grumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his bleary vision.

"Hurry up or you'll miss breakfast," Draco warned, throwing the towel into the hamper. "Shit, you look like the living dead."

"Thank you…very much," was the muttered reply as Aiden struggled out of his shirt. Draco went down to the common room to find his lackeys, feeling very superior to his still half-conscious roommate. After a long and vicious battle against the rather large part of him that wanted to burrow back into the covers, Aiden managed to get dressed (though, in all honesty, his tie's ends were mismatched and one sock was inside out) and downstairs to the Main Hall.

He sank into the seat between Draco and reached for any sort of meat that would come to hand. On the other side of Draco was Pansy, whose perfume he could smell from his seat, with Crabbe and Goyle harassing each other across from them.

Sneaking a glance across the hall, he couldn't help but smile triumphantly at the sight of Aletheia chatting with several girls at the Gryffindor table, among them none other then Hermione Granger. Bingo, contact had been established. She caught his eye for a moment, and Aletheia's friendly appearance turned sour, but she quickly focused back on her new companions, ignoring his existence.

That was fine by him; he was too busy basking in the warm glow of success to care. Draco was currently growling under his breath to himself, scanning over his DADA scroll. "I can't believe the work they give us this early in the year."

Aiden mowed through a slice of bacon. "Final years at school. Shove as much as they can in last minute and hope something sticks."

"Can't wait to be out of here," Crabbe declared as he poked the mound of scrambled eggs of his plate.

Aiden winced at the sight of chewed food rolling around Crabbe's mouth, averting his eyes down to his juice. "Yeah, me neither."

Beside Aiden, Nott was steadfastly ignoring Goyle as he tried to make some sort of lame joke. Aiden had met him the day before and decidedly instantly that he was a decent fellow—he was less of an ass than most of the other boys in his year in Slytherin.

"I'll be right back, guys," Aiden said, getting up and walking down the aisle to where Aletheia was sitting, conversing with Hermione and a few others girls he didn't recognize but intended to learn about. Though he felt the looks following him, he did not glance back or give any indication that he cared. "Hello, miss," he smiled charmingly, extending his hand to her. "Seeing as we're both new, Dumbledore requested that we meet and try to help each other out as best we can. I'm Aiden Brant."

"Mallory Kensington," she replied, shaking his hand with every effect of indifferent politeness. "It's nice to meet you. This is Hermione Granger, Lavender Brown, and Ginny Weasley."

Aiden bowed dramatically with a sweeping gesture. "Charmed. Would you mind if I studied with you ladies later? Miss Granger, I've heard tell that you're terribly clever—could you help us get caught up?"

Hermione turned a rather bewildered look at him, as if wondering when the punch line was going to come, then nodded cautiously. "Sure, If that's what you want."

"Thank you. Where would you like us to meet?"

"Here, I suppose," Kensington said with a shrug. "Hermione says it clears out after meals."

"See you then," Aiden grinned, sauntering off. He smirked as he heard Ginny and Lavender whispering excitedly.

"Hell, he's a _Slytherin_?"

Apparently, he had made a favorable impression.

Now to weather the storm from the insufferable pricks back at his own table. He affected a nonchalant expression as he retook his seat, blatantly ignoring the questioning, demanding, and incriminating look being exchanged all around him. "Hey Malfoy, could you pass the toast?"

"What were you doing over talking with them?" Draco hissed, as if the very mention of their kind tasted bad on his tongue.

"The toast, man," Aiden repeated blandly, pointing at the plate. "Who, Mallory? She's extremely good-looking, if you hadn't noticed. Does a guy need another reason?"

"If she's a Gryffindor, then yes. They're all mudbloods and muggle lovers."

"Don't get your knickers in a bunch," Aiden said coolly, reaching past him and plucking a handful of bread. "Dumbledore wanted us to study together to help both of us fit in. Now, as much as I thought you would love to help me, I though it wouldn't be so bad to bum answers off a smart, attractive female. I'm not doing her any favors by agreeing, I assure you. Plus it gets in good with the Headmaster. How's that?"

There was silence down the ranks as Draco stared at him critically for a moment, then nodded approvingly. "You're a sharp character, Brant."

"I like to think so," he replied, taking a bite. Goyle looked placated, but Crabbe was still eyeing him distrustfully. However, he doubted either of them would give him a lick of trouble after Draco had signed off on him. They didn't seem capable of independent action, let alone rebellious thought.

Today he was going to get them paired off in one of their class, he decided. He wasn't sure which one yet. Not that he was expecting romantic fireworks, he just wanted to see how they interacted when placed in close quarters with each other.

"You look like you're up to absolutely no good," Pansy commented with a pert twist of her crimson stained lips, pausing as she left and leaning over his shoulder. "Plotting destruction and mayhem?"

"Why, of course." He craned his neck and flashed her a grin. She was beautiful in a striking way, cunning and spoiled and bold, and he could see in her eyes that she knew all of that and reveled in it.

"See you boys in class," she said sweetly, trailing fingers across Draco's shoulder before flipping her hair over her shoulder and strutting off. Aiden watched her go and turned back to his breakfast hiding an approving smile. There was a girl after his own heart.

The hall was quickly clearing out as students dashed off to their morning classes, and Aiden, Draco, and the gang rose with a communal sense of begrudged acceptance to head off to their first class that morning—Charms. They trudged up the stairs to the third floor class, and Aiden tried his best not to snigger as they all fell into their assumed ranks behind Draco as they headed down the hall to the room. Except for Nott. Aiden was beginning to really like him.

Aiden liked anyone that didn't simper to the almighty ego of Mr. Malfoy.

Flitwick strode up and down the front of class carefully detailing the charm they were going to learn that day and its history and so forth. Aiden spent the time studying the students in the room, jabbing down quick notes in Greek so that the sneaking glances Draco and some of the other Slytherins sent his way would not betray his purpose.

Hermione was the only one of her little trio that seemed to be paying any real sort of attention, while the two boys next to her, the infamous Harry Potter and his sidekick Ron Weasley, passed a piece of parchment back and forth when the instructor wasn't looking. Mallory was sketching while listening half-heartedly, and she shot him an accusatory look over her shoulder, making it clear that she blamed him entirely for her currently inactivity.

_You owe me for this_, he watched the words appear on the paper in front of him, and he rolled his eyes.

So far this was frustrating, and he hadn't seen a lick of drama. A simple fixing charm, that was it? If he had been teaching this class, Crabbe wouldn't have been edging toward dreamland three seats down. Students are much more apt to pay attention if you make things a little dangerous, singe their eyebrows off every once in awhile. That didn't appear to be Professor Flitwick's taste in teaching, to his disappointment.

It was going to be a long day.

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* * *

Why hello. Another chapter, don't you love me? ruffles Aiden's hair he's such a punk. It's going kind of slowly, I know, but I'm trying to work into it carefully and not freak out anyone's character. Review and let me know how you're liking it (or...not liking it) cause getting feedback is inspiring. And you want me to write more. So talk to me, people. 

Oh, and someone left me a question about Aletheia. "Shouldn't it be Athena?" And the answer is no. Athena is a goddess of wisdom and civilization and plotting for war and all that jazz, which wasn't quite what I was looking for. Aletheia is the Greek word for truth, and implies sincerity, actuality, and reality. I like the concept of that, and formed a character based off of the ideal.

If you have a favorite from Greek mythology you'd like to see make a guest appearance, drop me a line. Also, if you have an opinion on couples in this epic tale. Nothing is final yet, and with Cupid running around, anything could happen.


	5. Warning: Explosive Materials

It was in Potions, their third class that day, when Aiden finally decided to act. It wasn't particularly matter of timing—he had simply lost all shreds of patience. Meeting the professor had been something of an unnerving experience, but he had screwed up both his courage and his irritation and gave the man a mental shove to convince him that now would be a perfect opportunity to pair up Slytherins and Gryffindors to work together around dangerous potions ingredients.

Hermione pulled a face when she was assigned to Draco, while her new counterpart looked affronted that he was going to be required to stand for an extended period of time within a five foot perimeter of her. Aiden was stuck with the infamous Harry Potter, who turned out to be a pretty nice, average young individual. How exciting.

Aiden was distracted, trying to observe carefully and yet remain inconspicuous as Draco and Hermione glared at each other over their cauldron. It was not an easy task. And he wanted popcorn.

Harry nudged him when he missed the first instruction, and he had to focus as they began chopping up and carefully stirring in ingredients. He couldn't see anymore, which was disappointing, but he could hear with his advanced hearing, and he tuned in to their conversation (if you could call it that) while he worked.

"Wait, that's too—"

"Shut up, Granger,"

"But it's—"

"Shut it, or I'll turn your hair into the broom it so desperately tries to resemble."

Aiden envisioned the flames practically shooting out of her eyes and winced when thick silence descended.

_FWOOM!_

Heads whipped around at the sharp noise and corresponding yelp from Draco. Hermione wasn't even bothering to disguise the blatant look of "I told you so, moron" she was sporting on her face as she reached forward and fanned away the lingering smoke, observing the color.

"Having problems?" Snape asked dryly, looking back over his black fabric coated shoulder as he paused in writing out instructions.

"No," Malfoy grumbled, settling back into his seat, shrugging his shoulders back and flicking stray hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head. "Bloody thing."

Hermione pursed her lips together prissily. "Maybe if you hadn't—"

"Sod. Off. Granger." He said in a clipped tone, nose wrinkling in a sneer.

"I am not getting a bad mark because you can't follow simple instructions, weasel," she retorted, going back to her meticulous clipping while Malfoy's wand hand clenched.

"Earth to Brant," Harry quipped, waving a hand in front of his face. "It'll be nightfall by the time we're done if you don't help."

"Er, sorry," he said apologetically, though he chanced another glance over his shoulder. Malfoy was currently miming strangling Granger to the other Slytherin boys as she leaned forward to add a fine black powder to the mix.

"Here, grind the dried newt's tongue," Harry said, plunking the mortar and pestle in his hands.

He began pulverizing the shriveled little things, musing to himself while Harry carefully counted the times he had stirred the softly simmering potion. Aiden was, tragically, arrowless at the moment. He'd had some—ahem—privileges suspended after that nasty bit of work in Istanbul, and he didn't reckon he'd be seeing them for a while yet, which certainly complicated things.

Because he wanted nothing more then to thwack one into the back of Draco.

Maybe he could try locking them in a broom closet.

He would have to wait on that. In their current state they would probably bite each other's heads off instead of eating face. They did not do well working together. Both of them were leaders, and both of them thought that they knew how to do it best—Hermione because she wanted to do it in her exacting, precise manner from the book and Draco because he instinctively believed he was correct in all circumstances.

Hermione huffed and Draco made snide comments, and they generally both had a horrible time through the exercise. And to make matters more spectacular, they both seemed to be more accident prone when they were flustered.

"No, wait to add the crocodile liver until—" Draco instructed, scrolling over his notes.

"I know what it says, Draco," she snapped, stirring a bit too fast and accidentally splashing a few drops onto Draco's school robes. They hissed and sputtered, and promptly came up purple and foul-smelling against the black fabric.

"Damn it, mudblood!" Draco exclaimed, dragging off his top layer and discarding it on the floor by their seats.

"Can't you ever come up with anything new?" Hermione grumbled under her breath as she continued stirring, more cautiously this time.

"Do you really want me getting more creative?"

A shadow fell across them, and they looked up to see Professor Snape towering over them. "So sorry to interrupt your little spat with something so trivial as my lesson, but could you condescend to pay attention while I'm giving instructions?"

Hermione nodded, cheeks flushing, while Draco merely shot the professor a disgruntled look and focused up on the board. Aiden and Harry's potion had turned out well (at least, it looked that way), mostly due to Harry's diligence and Aiden's subtle help if anything went out of place. Magic came easily to him, natural and familiar, and he had a fierce instinct in most of the subjects he had come across so far.

And he knew his potions, that was for sure. Though he doubt Professor Snape would have had much appreciation for the brews that he was most skilled in concocting. Though Snape looked like he could have used a healthy dose. It couldn't be good for your face to glower and storm about like that all the time.

When class had concluded, Draco slung his bag across his shoulders, dumping his outer robes on Hermione's head as he stormed out past her. "See if you can't put some of your clever skills to use getting that out, Granger."

Hermione disentangled herself, bolting to her feet while Ron and Harry came up protectively behind her. She took a deep breath, her left eyebrow twitched spastically, and she reached over to collect her things, stalking out of the classroom. Aiden hurried to catch up with Draco and his gang, and was surprised (and a bit disappointed) to see that the fight had apparently fizzled out between the two as Hermione lingered in the hallway ignoring the blonde haired fiend walking away from her.

At least, Aiden thought things were over, until he felt the brief surge of magic behind them, and looked over to see Draco's ears twitching and wiggling vicious under the influence of a hex. Draco whirled around, but the so called "Golden Trio" had vanished out of the corridor. Swearing beneath his breath as he cursed her up and down, Draco stomped angrily down to lunch while Aiden fought hard not to laugh at the sight.

Not a bad day's work.

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Woot. Another chapter. Watch me ignore all the important plot changes in HBP in order to enjoy playing with characters. Bwahaha.

No, seriously. There will be no miraculouslyhot!Hermione and no sexmachine!Draco. I mean, honestly.

Eros: cause everyone knows _I'm_ the one and only Sex God of the Slytherin House

me: whacks him upside the head Egotistical prat

Eros: Don't hate me because I'm beautiful

me: facepalm


	6. This Is Why I'm Hot

_Diary of Aiden Brant, Matchmaker Extraordinaire_

_Have successfully completed the class portion of my first day. Was charming and brilliant (naturally)_

_So… the short term plan is—_

_meet Target #2 and Aletheia to study after dinner. _

_Must get Aletheia alone and obtain her assistance. We must think and work as one. Try to come up with something to coerce/blackmail Aletheia into service (besides good behavior). She won't help me without a fight… She's a prick like that. _

_Find out if I can get popcorn delivered_

_Long Term_

_Alright, this is where things get sticky. _

_List of Brilliant Tactics to get Snob and Prat together_

_Introduce subjects slowly by forcing them to work together. Watch for possible repressed sexual tension. Also, watch out for flying objects / hexes / curses / etc. _

_Try to schmooze arrows back off of Athena. They were taken from me wrongfully anyway._

_Draco's damn prejudice thing is killing the master plan. I must attempt to overcome his complete and utter revulsion if we're going to get anywhere. Will consult Aletheia on this—her mind enjoys convoluted psychological debates of such nature. _

_Try to get Draco to recognize Hermione as attractive. _

_If all else fails…well, there's always the old fashioned potion in the drink routine._

…_I'm hungry. Will get diner and finish plotting later. I don't think well on an empty stomach._

Aiden slapped his book shut and stowed it under his pillow, placing a locking charm on it. He glanced over at the wand laying on the bedside table and gave it a lopsided grin. Damn. He was going to be in trouble if he couldn't remember to use the thing when casting spells.

He stuffed it into his robes and drug himself up off the bed. He wondered how things were going on Aletheia's end. The teachers were probably all enamored with her, little brownnosing brat that she was. Her and Hermione were no doubt getting along fabulously, curled up every spare minute of the day with a pile of school books and musing over stupid rhetorical questions about magical theory.

He joined the other members of his house at the dinner table, greeting them with a general "hullo" as he dumped into his seat. "How was Quiddie practice?"

"Raining," Draco grumbled, as if that was enough explanation. He sat up a bit, though, as he continued. "We've got a game next week."

"Fantastic. It's been a while since I'm seen a good match. Who're you up against?" Aiden began serving himself with a relish, inspecting the food officiously.

"Hufflepuff," Draco said in a derogatory tone of voice, with about the inflection he would have used to say 'spineless wimps'.

_You're just full of goodwill toward mankind, aren't you?_ Aiden thought, chuckling to himself as he shoveled peas into his mouth. "So what do you do for fun around here?"

"Fun?" Goyle asked, smirking while he leaned with one elbow resting on the table, currently brandishing a turkey drumstick.

"Yeah, like…not the kind of fun listed in the brochure." Aiden leaned over the table conspiratorially, hunching his shoulders.

"Do we look like the sort who'd make trouble?" Pansy inquired as she adopted a superior look, face steely indifference while a gleam in her eyes promised different,

"Trouble?" a new voice asked. "I'm all in."

"Zabini," Draco jerked his head up in a manner that passed for a welcome, and he gestured for Crabbe and Goyle to make room for the tall boy to sit across from them.

Zabini was not thrilled with Aiden's immediate proximity. Yesterday Aiden had been a little more then friendly with Alise Roderick, Blaise's current interest, and the two had been subtly grating on each other's nerves ever since. They both pretended that the other didn't bother them, however, and Blaise crooked a smile as he sat. "Nice to see you, Brant. Got any particular brand of mischief in mind?"

"Seeing as I'm new, I thought it'd be fun to start my Hogwarts experience off with a bang."

Pansy nipped delicately at a steamed carrot, twirling her fork between dainty fingers. "The staff around here has been thinking they're safe now that those dreadful Weasel twins are gone."

"We'll just have to prove them wrong," Draco said confidently.

"Who do we hit first?" Crabbe asked excitedly, warming to the subject.

"Gryffindor seventh year boys, or their quidditch team," Draco informed them. "For obvious reasons."

"They'll know it was us," Blaise pointed out shrewdly.

"They can't _prove_ anything," Goyle said with a wicked look.

"Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws are less likely to retaliate," Draco admitted with a shrug.

"Some of those Ravenclaws are nasty little buggers. All those hours researching spells. Remember in fifth year when those two boys from their house put those damn hexes on our quills in revenge for me and Goyle roughing them up?" Crabbe frowned at the memory, staring at his hands with a sort of horrified remembrance.

"The Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs aren't enough sport for us," Aiden said decisively. "The Gryffindors it is, this time. I'll hit em in the dorm sometime this next week. Should be…interesting."

The rest of the meal was spent in the midst of an intense strategy session with Nott rolling his eyes down the table. It was shaping up to be something of an initiation for Aiden into their ranks, and he delved into the challenge with a relish.

When the others left to their school work and a bit of goofing off in the common room, Aiden made his way over to the Gryffindor table and plunked down. "Hey."

Mallory turned to face him with a patient smile on her face. "So eager to learn, Brant?"

"Always. Specially with such lovely ladies to teach me."

Lavender giggled at that.

"Were you planning on actually studying, or just flirting?" Mallory snipped, bracing her weight against one hand on the bench beside her as she twisted her body toward him.

"Mallory!" Lavender exclaimed with a horrified gasp. "Brant's just being friendly."

"I figured I could get in a decent amount of both," Aiden said easily, completely undisturbed by her less then congenial attitude. "Could you help with my charms research?"

Hermione hauled her bag up onto the table, rooting around for her books. "Here," she handed him a rather weighty volume bound in green. "There's some good essays on technique in that one."

"Thanks," he smiled, and for a moment there was nothing calculated or haughty in it as he studied her carefully, and then looked down at the cover. There was some warm and genuine spirit, as well as a bit forceful, in the way she spoke and behaved.

Whatever it was, Draco could sure use it.

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Oh my gosh... I was driving home today and the song "This is why I'm hot" came on the radio and Aiden starting prancing around to it in my head. Then Blaise came sauntering up and they were puffing out their chests and singing at each other. Draco sneered at the whole display for a moment, then ended up joining in. I was so ready to hit my head on the steering wheel. So I guess that's Aiden's theme song. But Blaise and Draco resent that. So it's the StudlyTrio's official theme.

I have such a love/hate relationship with Eros. I love him because he's crazy and he completely keeps the story going, but it's so easy to hate him because... yeah... -obvious- reasons. Like his gigantic, overinflated ego. I'm actually excited cause I have the next chapter kind of setting itself up in my mind already. Booyah for intense drama. I am... so devious. Watch out, Eros.

Eros will eventually start getting his gear back. They can't hold it from him forever (though sometimes they wish they could). But things don't always go how they're supposed to, now do they? I think Aphrodite might show up in a couple of chapters, or later on at least if I can't work her in in the immediate future. Anybody read the Illiad? My goodness, she was hysterical.


	7. When the gods declare war

Eros appeared to be quietly reading as they all sat together, but he was trying to subtly impress on Hermione's mind the vague beginnings of a crush. It was easier on people less resolute, and he was making little progress. At the moment, she really truly wanted nothing to do with Draco. He would have to try it when Draco was around and ticking her off.

Manipulation was always easier when people were caught up in the rush of emotion, even if it was hatred. He sighed, and continued prodding around half-heartedly, not really getting anywhere. A sudden clatter of activity down at the end of the hall drew his attention, and he peered around Mallory and Hermione to catch a glimpse of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley trotting down the isle toward them, just short of running.

From the appearance of their facial expressions, they were a little distressed.

"Hermione," Harry addressed her urgently as she pivoted in her seat toward them. "Some of the Hufflepuff third years started something of a brawl with a bunch of Gryffindors."

"James Whitelock started it by teasing Katherine Hayles," Ron said, scowling. "It's broken up, but they could use a good lecture. We thought you'd be best at it."

"And we figure you'd be fairest as far as house point deduction goes," Harry added with a shrug.

She managed to smile wryly, and shook her head. "I'll see you back in the tower, Mallory," she said apologetically, slapping her books shut and shoving them into her bag. "Brant, you can return that one to me later. I don't need it now. Alright boys, let's go."

Mallory watched them go, then turned to Aiden. "We need to talk."

"About what?" he asked distractedly, trying to clear a spot in his bag for the tome, not bothering to look up at her.

"This whole business of yours here," she stated coldly.

His brows rose in affront. "What's got you in a snazz?"

"Let's take it somewhere private."

"Like where?" he asked. "I can't exactly take you back to my room. There isn't a lot of private space here and it's freezing outside."

"There's an empty classroom. Come on," she stood, "Follow me out in a few minutes." She stood and strode out. He sat forking through some papers and counting to one hundred in frustrated boredom before shoveling everything into his messenger bag and starting after her.

He hadn't made it twenty paces down the hall when she reached out from the shadows of a corridor and nabbed him. Her presence flared around him, and after a brief flash of shock he let her envelope him, teleporting them into the abandoned room. "Could've used a bit more warning," he growled as he swatted at his rumpled robes, straightening his collar. He could feel her magic seething along his skin, like a lingering electric static, and he took a step back from her. "Now what the hell is this whole cloak and dagger shit about?"

"You need to find someone else's life to screw with," Aletheia declared, meeting his eyes firmly.

"…What?"

"This whole ridiculous Hermione / Draco thing you have in your head."

"Are you kidding me?"

"No. It's completely screwed up. They'll make each other miserable."

"She's just what he needs. She's bright and forceful and idealistic. Someone to shake up his drab world."

"He doesn't deserve her! He's nothing more then a spoiled and selfish little brat."

"He has a control and sharpness that she could sure use a hefty dose of. She's not perfect, Aletheia."

"But he's… he hates her. This relationship will shred her." Her tone fell to a steely calm. "But you don't care, do you? It's just sport."

"Aletheia, don't get all emotional on me."

"For the god of love, you sure are an unfeeling, inconsiderate bastard."

"What is wrong with you?"

"I spent the day with her and her friends. They're good people, Eros. She's smart and passionate—she has so much to give this world. I won't let you take that away from her."

"I want her to fall in love, stop acting like I'm taking her life and sanity away."

"If you're not careful, you could take away both. Do you realize how serious this is? His father would have her _killed_ if he found out."

"Neither of them is weak, stupid, or naïve. Give them a little credit."

"They're just kids, Eros. And they _hate_ each other. They don't even see each other as real people."

"I want to help them get over that. Is that so bad?"

"What will you do? Shoot them with your fucking arrows?"

He blinked. Aletheia rarely swore, and it was proof that, despite the fact that she wasn't yelling, she was honestly and truly furious at him. "Maybe."

"Great. Just great. They'll get into some heady rush of emotions and plunge into something that they'll both end up hating themselves for. They're too different. He's completely consumed in his family and their beliefs, with himself and his world and his own arrogance, and she's so full of her ideals and love for other people, trying to make a difference and prove herself. It won't work."

"It will," he insisted, glaring at her heatedly as he stood perfectly still.

"Why, because you can make them physically attracted to one another? They won't care for each other. They won't support each other. He's can't protect her and she can't save him." Her eyes flashed gold a moment before reverting back to auburn.

"Fine. If you're not going to help me, then you can leave," he sulked.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm staying. Someone needs to watch out for the girl."

"You're going to try and stop me." He stared at her in surprised disbelief.

"Yes, I am."

"You care about her so much? Why? You've only known her one day. Why should it matter?"

She let a breath seep slowly into her lungs, and flood back out. "For someone who makes it his job, there seems to be a lot of things you don't understand about love."

And with that she left with a snap of her fingers and a crackle of gold. His face contorted in anger, lip curling as he clenched his teeth. So much for getting her to help him. If it was a fight she wanted, then fine.

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Yeah! Two chapters in two days. Am I amazing or what? Yeah... behold the drama. 

Keep sending me ideas on couples, I'm all ears. Even Eros is up for grabs.

Eros: glare what was that? I don't think so.

Oh, he's not making it out of this story unscathed rubs hands together he's much too snarky for me just to let him off the hook.


	8. Obscurity

Theory Chapter 8

Aiden sat on the windowsill, humming to himself and leaning his shoulder against the cold pane. The cold seeped into him from the outside, and he traced designs along the glass absentmindedly, ruminating. It got so cold here at night—an icy, damp chill that sunk into your bones.

It was late—or early, if you like, and the sun would be up in a couple of hours. He had waited, weighing his options and carefully considering his next move. If he had bothered putting such effort into the paper that was due later that morning, he would have gotten top marks. He didn't care much for his grades, though, and this was vastly more intriguing.

He pulled away, standing and facing the beds that lined the walls. There was a constant hum of at least one boy snoring at any given point of the night, and he smirked at the sound as he approached Draco's bed on silent feet.

The kid looked almost innocent while he slept, blonde hair a mess tousled around his head. He was more natural, relaxed, not acting superior or trying to prove himself. With one last glance around the room to make sure no one could see him, Aiden drew near to his bedside, stretching out a hand over the others face.

_This would be an awkward explanation if anyone were to wake up_, he thought with a faint breathy chuckle. The familiar flood of magic rushing through his veins gave him a heady rush, and he closed his eyes. The air around his spread fingers shimmered an eerie green, and with a faint crackle he slid down into Draco's dreams.

It was always an odd sensation, suddenly seeing and feeling with was going on in the abstract hours of someone's nocturnal dreams, and it took him a minute to adjust to the sensation. Draco was smack dab in the middle of a rather fantastical dream. There was something about… a dinner gone terribly awry, talking lobsters, and house elves spitting applesauce all over the walls chanting something about "spew".

Somebody had been eating too much of his mum's candy before going to bed, eh?

Aiden gave him a mental nudge that sent him running out the back doors onto the balcony. Draco ground to a halt, pale hands clenching the stone banister, muttering beneath his breath. He sighed mightily and deposited himself onto a bench, raking a hand through his hair. The mad, colorful frenzy that had been of his imagining before was slipping slowly away, bleeding its chaos, sliding into the surreal world Aiden had painted.

The world was painted in surreal shades of grey and blue, the sky above cold and clear. Draco glanced up at a faint noise across the lawn, starting to him feet and peering out into the darkness with sharp grey eyes, the planes of his face thrown into sharp contrast. He heard it again, intangible, faint and taunting, and had taken a step toward the shadows before the action had even registered.

Realizing abruptly what he was doing he balked, staring at the line racing across the stone floor in front of him where the light pouring from the house ended, abandoning the rest of the world to shadows and moonlight.

With a last glance over his shoulder at the brightly lit rooms behind him, he plunged across the barrier into the night, stepping briskly down the low, wide stairs and trekking across the lawn toward the dark fringe of trees that bordered the immaculate swath of grass, hands tucked into his pockets.

"_Draco…"_

He broke into a run at the sound of his whispered name, laughter swirling around him, merry and bright and so dangerously alluring. It caught at his legs, pushing him faster. Breath poured out of his lungs, the sound rough as he plunged into the stately border of trees. Tall, graceful trunks rose up all around him, the loam damp and soft beneath his shoes.

Roots caught at the tips of his shoes as he ventured farther in. He slowed, listening, heartbeat pounding in his ears, painfully loud against the eerie stillness.

Time slid out of his reckoning as he wandered, chasing faint footsteps and half-glimpses. She was running through the trees, laughing, a scent of sunlight and a lingering warmth upon the air in her wake. But all he could see was the shadows, and she was always beyond his grasp.

He stumbled in the darkness, growling in frustration. Anger and disappointment built inside of him, burning red-hot in his lungs, and he kicked at the offending root with a muttered curse.

A breathy giggle right behind him very nearly sent him spilling again. Before he had a chance to turn a pair of slim arms slid around him, pulling him back.

"What are you doing?" he managed to strangle out of his own throat, breath hitching.

She didn't answer, only rested her temple between his shoulder blades with a barely registered puff of breath.

He froze, unable to turn, feeling warmth soak into him. A painful shudder coursed through him at the touch, driving out the cold. Heat seeped into his body as one hand curled around his shoulder and the other rested over his chest.

Her weight pressed against him was comforting and solid, and Draco relaxed instinctively into her touch. Shoulders that he hadn't even realized were tense slowly unstiffened. Her presence was unassuming, undemanding, as they both simply stood. Her touch was kind and firm, anchoring him to earth.

He closed his eyes, drinking in the security.

How long? How long had it been since he had simply been held? With no other motive or purpose but to simply draw warmth and safety from another's arms?

None of the boys in Slytherin were the hugging type. With good reason—he would have hexed any of them for attempting it. With the girls it always led to something else, he was pushing the envelope further open, trying to get something more. His father was not one for demonstrations of affection, and his mother… her attentions could be a bit stifling.

How could something be so unreal and yet so reassuring?

His eyes slid open as he looked up through the dim shadows and lines of the trees, glimpsing stars amidst the tangled scraggly branches reaching out overhead. He felt as obscure and undefined as the darkness and the shadows, like nothing gave him meaning except the heat at his back.

She felt him shift, as if contemplating turning around, and her hold on him tightened, a hand reaching down to clasp his. He was met with only silence.

Can you want something simple, something with no further demands?

She seemed to ask the questions silently, pressing her fingertips to his before interlocking them loosely. He stood, struggling between his nature to not listen, to need answers, to defy simple instructions and the desire to simply stay where he was, with the warmth settling down into his bones and setting something old and unsated to rest.

He hesitated, but then craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of her. With a soft laugh and a brief squeeze to his hand she was gone, slipping away from him into the shadows, leaving him alone.

Draco sat up in bed, breaths unsteady as he gripped the bedsheets, wrestling them away from his legs where they had snarled. He felt clumsily at his back as if he expected an unexplained warmth to be there, but found that there was no reason for any part of him to be cold. With a quick scan of the room, he laid back down and burrowed under the blankets.

Several beds down, Aiden smiled silently to himself in the pitch black.

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It simply refused to be written any other way. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. This story is an insane mix of comedy and seriousness, but I hope you like it all the same.

So far the votes for couples are: Ron/Pansy-1, Aiden/Mallory-6, Draco/Hermione-Well, I'm assuming you're all counting on this one (wink)

Oh, and I totally forgot that there's not a DADA cause I wanted Snape to still be the Potions Prof. so... yeah, I'm contemplating a god (or possibly goddess) to fill the roll. Not sure yet, stay tuned for details.


	9. The Plot Thickens

Draco was already gone when Aiden awoke the next morning, Crabbe and Goyle laughing at each other. Crabbe having a less the stellar day in the tie assembly department, and Goyle was mocking his efforts.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Nott said as he pulled his outer robes on, straightening the collar beneath them. He paused, fixing his eyes on Aiden a moment. "Woah. You look like a freaking zombie."

"Aren't you a charming bunch," Aiden muttered while he sat slowly up.

"We try," Theodore turned his back on him, slinging on his school bag. "Be careful leaving your papers out in these parts. Crabbe's likely to copy your answers and you'll _both_ get nicked."

"Sod off, Teddy," Crabbe glowered, throwing a pillow at him.

Nott just smiled as it hit the bedpost to his left. "Gentlemen, I'll see you at breakfast."

Aiden stretched his arms over his head and clambered out of bed. "Where's Draco run off to?"

"We're not his bodyguards," Goyle said with a shrug. "Probably went down early to eat or sumthin'."

Aiden shoved his schoolwork in between pages of his books, scanning over it for anything blatantly stupid, standing in front of his desk in his pajama bottoms. His vision swam, letters blurring, and he blinked owlishly. So much for proofreading. Now…to find clothing.

He turned slowly, staring at the articles of clothing strewn around his bed and heaped on the floor. Somewhere in there was a clean pair of pants. Hopefully.

He found a set of relatively clean clothes and set off down for the morning meal. The din of voices spilled over his senses as he stepped into the hall, making his way down the aisles. Snatches of conversations breezed past him.

"Not again."

"Couldn't finish my parchment—"

"Said he was working down in—"

"Are you serious? _Another_ DADA—"

"Hey, watch it! You spilled pumpkin—"

"How do they keep finding guys to take the—"

"Could you pass—"

"—barely here for two months and they're replacing him already. Good riddance, I'll say. He was too soft, too straitlaced. How are we supposed to learn anything useful in that class if all we do is read essays in textbooks and write papers? Rubbish," Draco was saying as Aiden took his seat.

"I miss something?" Aiden asked, loading up his plate. It would never cease to amaze him how worked up about thing the students around here could get.

"New DADA professor," Zabini informed him. Aiden and Blaise were slowly but surely moving toward being on better terms with each other. They had a lot of the same personality traits and tendencies, which managed to both magnetize them toward each other and yet put them at odds at the same time. Especially in regards to females.

"That happen a lot?"

"Some people think the position might be cursed," Goyle said, wagging his eyebrows.

"Sounds intriguing. So we have a different teacher filling in yet?"

"They managed to pull someone in last minute," Draco said in his singularly infuriating superior manner. Aiden's grip on his fork tightened momentarily. "Don't ask me where they find these ignorant twits."

"You don't seem to have been impressed by the previous staff in that position," Aiden commented dryly.

"What gave it away?" Draco smirked. It was like he knew no other way to smile. "I think after they hired Lockheart for the job I lost any and all shreds of respect for it."

Aiden nearly spit out the water he was in the process of drinking. "Lockheart? Wait—Gilderoy Lockheart? Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"It was wretched," Goyle said, trying to wipe jam off the sleeve of his sweater.

Aiden nearly fell out of his seat laughing. The vainglorious wizard could teach Narcissus a thing or two about self adoration. "I can't believe they drug him away from his mirror long enough to teach."

"The only person he was a danger to was himself, unless you count accidents. He knew absolutely _nothing_ about the Dark Arts." Draco growled under his breath, and Pansy ran her fingers through his hair in what she imagined to be a soothing, reassuring manner. He flinched away, irritated at having his locks ruffled, and shot her a dirty look. "I don't expect to be impressed by whatever loony they've conned into taking the job this time."

"Your optimism brings warmth to my dark soul," Aiden chuckled, simultaneously swatting Crabbe from reaching for the last piece of bacon on the plate in front of them. "Don't touch that."

"Har har," Draco elbowed Aiden in the side.

The chimes rang out to signal them to head to class, and they joined in with the rush of students bumping and jostling their way to class. Goyle and Crabbe were taking shots at passersby, seeing how many they could knock off their feet while seeming innocuous. Draco and Blaise were out in front, the crowd practically parting around them as they walked side by side. Aiden was wondering whether or not it would be possible to paste some clever insult in sparkly pink letters across the back of Zabini's robes without him noticing it when he detected the familiar tones of Hermione's voice above the commotion as they neared the DADA classroom, talking with Harry and Ron.

"I suppose our assignment is kind of moot, then," Hermione was saying, readjusting the straps of her bag as they got closer to the doors.

"What are the odds we get a relatively normal professor?" Harry inquired with a sarcastic grin.

"They have all been a bit wonky, haven't they?" Ron asked with a laugh.

"Isn't that kind of like the pot calling the kettle black, Weasel?" Draco asked, coming up behind them. They whirled around, Hermione's hair nearly whacking Harry in the face.

"Nobody asked you to join the conversation," Ron shot back at him. "Get bored with terrorizing first years?"

"Well, you lot aren't exactly much of an improvement, are you?" Draco sneered, folding his arms across his chest.

"We're not scared of you, Malfoy," Harry said calmly, though his fingers were itching to reach for his wand, and he curled them stubbornly into fists.

"Though, in all honesty," Hermione butted in with an infuriating smile, "your face is pretty terrifying. But it _is_ good to see you putting your looks to work, because with your grades…"

Ron snorted with laughter.

"I'll—" Draco hissed, taking a step toward her in an attempt to intimidate her with his size.

"You'll—what?" Harry taunted while Ron gave Draco's shoulder a shove back. They both moved instinctively in front of Hermione. "Perform an unforgivable? Get your ass to class, Malfoy."

With that, the trio went into the classroom, leaving Draco and the gang with nothing better then to follow them in. Aiden glanced over as he took a seat beside Crabbe and Zabini and saw Draco scowling. Hiding his amusement, he pulled out his books and plunked them down onto the table in front of him. He flicked the hair out of his eyes and settled back into his seat.

"So where's the professor?" he asked, winging a hand through the air.

"Late on his first day, bad form," Blaise said.

"What's he gonna do, give himself detention?" Crabbe asked as he smoothed out a crinkled piece of parchment that had been crammed into the bottom of his bag.

The doors swung open and their newest Dark Arts instructor swept in, looking a bit harried but flashing a welcoming smile. "Good morning class, sorry I'm late. The castle takes a bit of getting used to."

The smirk died on Aiden's lips, his jaw falling open a moment before he could recover. It was Anteros. This was either a very good thing or a very bad thing.

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It's moving kind of slow in the romance department, I know. But I'm trying to make this believable. Eros is still trying to figure out what he's going to do without his stuff, and waiting to get it back. He will get his arrows back, though. Fear not. 

I got some comment about the dream not accomplishing anything. I left Hermione out of it for a reason. It's kinda complicated, and it'll come back into play later. Sorry, no spit swapping. Think, honestly think, about hating someone. Like, real hatred. If Draco had seen Hermione... it wouldn't have gone well. rubs hands I am a plotter. There is purpose.

Hopefully a few things will get explained in the next chapter, including exactly who Anteros is and some other stuff. (hugs Anteros) I like him.


	10. For Better or Worse?

Anteros smiled broadly as he set his books down onto his desk. "My name is Nathan Clarke, and I'm the newest professor to be appointed to this allegedly precarious position." He surveyed his class with confidence, hands on his hips. In his late twenties, he had shaggy black hair, sharply defined features, and a mischievous glint to his grey-green eyes. He was strikingly handsome, and well aware of the fact, though he wasn't arrogant about the knowledge. Unlike some people he knew…

He came around the front of his desk and sat on the corner, thinking quietly to himself for a moment. "The Dark Arts is a very practical subject, so much of my material will be hands on. You will all need to be prepared for what you may face in the coming years. So, today _I_ will assign partners, and we will practice dueling and defense in pairs."

Mallory and Aiden glanced at each other and shrugged in shared confusion. Hermione, Ron, and Harry exchanged pleased and surprised looks, hoping that their teacher would be as brilliant as he promised. Even Draco was a bit excited at the prospect. Everything was looking up, until Professor Clarke got a ways down the list of partners.

"Granger and Malfoy. Brown and Parkinson. Weasley and Crabbe. Blaise and Potter…"

Gasps of astonishment and outrage immediately filled the air, dirty looks flying across the clearly segregated room. Aiden tried his best not to grin outright. Anteros was planning on helping him, it seemed. Good. He could use the assistance, and a staff member that was in on the game was the perfect thing.

"Kensington and Brant."

"Excuse me?" Aiden snapped, eyes locking on the softly smiling face of Professor Clarke.

"Pair up," he instructed calmly.

"Bloody hell," Crabbe muttered, glancing over at Ron with his lip curling in disgust.

Ironically, Ron had just mumbled the same thing.

Hermione's hand was immediately in the air. "Professor Clarke?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?" he asked, with a look on his face that suggested he already knew precisely what she was going to say. It didn't really take rocket science to figure it out.

"Students from opposing houses usually face each other in dueling exercises," she informed him, trying to keep her face from showing her distaste at the particular Slytherin she had been assigned with. 'And Malfoy and I are not exactly on the best of terms."

"I am well aware of both the interhouse rivalry, as well as you and Malfoy's personal distaste for one another," Clarke stated with perfect equanimity. "I also want you all to realize that one day you may be required to fight alongside someone who is not your best friend, or even someone you remotely like. But it will be vital that you work together, that you learn to put aside prejudice because the life of the person beside you, and indeed your own life, rest in the balance. Each one of you has been paired accordingly.

Now, if some of you think that you're above this, and that you will not or can not defend your partner, I have this to say: this is a graded exercise. This is not optional, you are required to do this. If you are willing to sacrifice yourself in order to take your partner down with you, know that he or she will be graded based solely on their singular effort, not on your success as a pair."

Nearly every student in the room groaned at that news. Nathan Clarke merely smiled benevolently down at them. "Shall we?" He gestured them all to rise. "Come on, up, up, up. Don't have all day to waste grumbling and mumbling about the cruelties of life."

Draco stood sharply, folding his arms across his chest. At this point in such circumstances, he was accustomed to simply whipping out his father's name and waving it threateningly around in the air. That wasn't particularly an option anymore, and there was little he could do about the matter. He needed this class for his N.E.W.T.s, and it was his best subject (naturally).

His breaths were clipped as he glared at the supposed authority of the class, struggling against his pride on both ends of the argument. He didn't want to back out of an assignment, vehemently didn't want his grade to take a hit, and especially didn't want Granger to score better then him in her one less then exemplary subject. But to work with that mudblood, to shield and defend her… he fought back the urge to snarl.

"Is there a problem, Malfoy?" Clarke asked, raising one brow in silent challenge.

"No," Draco ground out, stomping forward to join an equally sulking Hermione.

Aiden offered Mallory a clearly fake smile as he stood beside her up front, but she only sighed with a noble air of longsuffering and found better things to observe besides his face.

Crabbe and Goyle, seeing their leader subjecting himself to this ordeal, elected to begrudgingly join in.

"I've gotten permission to use the spare classroom for the task, so it's been cleared out for our use. I didn't want anything to get damaged in here in the process." Professor Clarke moved down the aisle dividing the classroom toward the door, his smartly tailored robed billowing out behind him. "If you would all follow me."

Mumblings and whispers of mutiny ran through the ranks as they filed out, slipping back into their natural groups briefly. The room had been completely cleared out, the windows flung open to admit what sunlight was to be had in the soggy weather they were presently coping with.

Professor Clarke directed them to different positions across the room, and they obeyed slowly, as if declaring their unwillingness in any way they could. Eros glanced across the room at Draco and smile. At least he would be consoled by the chance to stupefy his endearing bunkmate. He flicked his wand out and stood laxly at attention.

"We'll discuss positions first," Clarke was saying as he paced the length of the room in front of them, his shoes tacking out a brisk sound along the stone floors. "You must learn to accommodate the manner in which another person fights, to watch out for things they may miss. Yes, Mister Potter?"

"Will we be doing _any_ personal dueling during class?" Harry asked, shooting Zabini a less then pleased look. It was quite apparent that he was less then thrilled at the aspect of being stuck confining his practical use of magic in defense to someone who would much rather be across from him on the dueling floor.

"Good question. Of course you will," Professor Clarke assured him, pausing and flipping the thin black chunks of hair that were currently obstructing his vision out of the way with a toss of his head. His eyes blazed with a keen interest as he spoke. "But I think teamwork is very important, and the division of this school is something that has been called to the attention of every professor here. There is a very real danger, here within these walls and not just out there in the world, and I will not allow your petty differences and rivalry over Quidditch endanger you or your fellow students. Understood?" he stared intently around the room, and nodded officiously.

"Alright, wands out and at the ready. Now, your beginning stance should…"

To say the rest of the class was a disaster was an understatement. Points were deducted from both houses present as complications between partners arose, and no student left the room without at least one bruise. Even Anteros' patience was being pressed a little thin as Goyle slammed into Ron for the umpteenth time trying to step in unison with the lankier red-head's offensive shot. Whether it was on purpose or sheer ineptitude was anybody's guess.

Draco was more then a little fed up with the entire exercise. It wouldn't have been such a bad idea if he and Blaise had been paired up to hex and curse the little gung-ho Gryffindors to kingdom come. But being forced to work with that little punctilious terror Granger? Insufferable. He growled under his breath as he collected up his bag and slung it round his shoulders.

As was her fashion, she wanted to do everything exactly and precisely as demonstrated and laid out. There was no room in her book for "winging it". They clashed again and again, but each hated the thought of accommodating the other. When she moved, she was exacting, but she tended to move slower. He wanted to get the forms over with so they could start flinging spells across the room at the other students.

Instead he had been stuck in an awkward, slow motion sort of dance with the person in the world numbered among his top five least favorites. Close proximity with a mudblood. The thought made him shudder even now. And it was required for his grade! He decided his was grievously to be pitied.

Professor Clarke clapped his hands together to get the attention of his disheveled and battered class, who had taken to whispering angrily amongst themselves about the grave injustices they had been subjected to. "Well, that was pretty much horrible."

Murmurs and groans of assent went up across the room.

"But that's perfectly alright," he continued with an enthusiastic smile. "Because we have all year."

If looks could kill, the glares being directed his way would have put Anteros' immortality to the test.

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Sorry that took so long. Things went kind of crazy with spring break and everything. Yeeeeah. Anyways, it has been brought to my attention that this story focuses way too much on Eros and I think I'm beginning to agree. I will attempt to work on it, but Draco is not much of an encouragement and Eros _likes_ the spotlight. A lot. However, I will put some future chapters kinda more on Hermione and Draco's side. 

I was going to make this chapter longer to make up for my absence, but 3 pages seems to be my wall when it comes to these things. Once again, working on it.

I'm sorry for dragging another god into it, for those of your that are touchy about OC, but I needed a professor for DADA and I love Anteros. I'll talk more about him and his relation to Eros... hopefully in the next chapter.

Thanks for all the feedback, it's been wonderful both as encouragement, and to help me realize what goes wrong.


	11. Somewhere Between Want and Need

Chapter 11--Somewhere Between Want and Need

Eros poked his head in Professor Clarke's study. "Sorry to disturb you, Prof, but I wanted to discuss the reading assignment."

Anteros looked up at him and quirked a brow, "I'm sure you do."

"They got you busy already?" Eros asked, sprawling in the chair across the desk, draping his knees over the side.

"You wouldn't believe the amount of detail that goes into this sort of thing. Lesson plans and all of this lovely paperwork. I can't wait until I have to start grading papers," Anteros leaned back in his chair and reached for the flask of wine sitting on the low bookshelf behind him.

"May I?" Eros asked, summoning a glass for himself.

"I don't think it would be appropriate for a professor to be offering a student alcohol," Anteros replied with a smirk, pouring himself some and corking the bottle. "How have you been doing as of late?"

"Decently. It's been difficult though, for reasons I'm sure you're already aware of. The classes here are the least of my troubles, though I don't appreciate being paired up with that little snot Aletheia, thank you very much."

Anteros was entirely too proud of himself as he took a slow sip of the rich red liquid. "What are brothers for?"

"To cause torment and agony, apparently."

"Don't sulk, Eros."

"Speaking of Aletheia—she been giving you any trouble in this little endeavor of yours?" Anteros inquired, grateful for an excuse to take a break from his endless filing and organizing and other such frivolous nonsense.

"No really," Eros said. "She flusters, but doesn't normally do anything about it. She got pretty mad at me the other day, though."

"Really?"

"Swore at me and everything. Though she was gonna start spitting fire or some scary shit like that." Eros folded his arms across his chest and craned his neck back to stare at the ceiling.

"She's quite protective of Granger, isn't she?"

"Mmmhmm," Eros replied noncommittally, the sound a low hum in the back of his throat.

"Just try not to blow it by rushing things, okay?" Anteros said, swirling his wine around in the glass. His tone suggested that, while he felt it his obligation to voice the warning, he felt the Eros could and would do nothing else but that very thing.

Eros sat upright, a bit tiffed. "Why does everyone think I'm this trigger happy maniac?"

"Because you…are?" Anteros tried to fight back his grin. And failed. _Oh well…_ "Now get yourself down to dinner before people start questioning your reputation of being a complete lout with the teachers."

"Fine, fine," Eros muttered, waving loosely without looking back as he left, heading down to the main hall. They plugged their way through an uneventful meal and boring evening, loitering around and not accomplishing much of… anything. There were scant few that Eros caught with a book in hand the entire evening.

That night, when all the others were asleep, he decided now was a perfect opportunity to wreck his havoc once more in the world of dreams. And so it was that Draco found himself once again in a darkened wood.

Draco started at the presence suddenly behind him in the all too familiar surroundings. She made no sound, not the slightest rustle or thud of a footstep, yet he was possessed of an unknown knowledge, an instinct. He froze, staring straight ahead and waiting for some movement, an announcement of her arrival.

Nothing.

"Hey," he whispered, voice thick and out of place in the oppressive quietness of the dark night.

"Miss me?" she inquired with a smile he felt even though he couldn't see her. Her voice was joy and hope and a thousand other things he seemed to have given up on.

"I don't even know you," he replied coldly, an all too familiar safety in his own indifference, but he wondered if she felt the tremor of sated anticipation that coursed up through his hand as her thin fingers caught his. She drew close, as if she felt the sliver widening in his confidence. She was a gentle pressure keeping it together, seeping into the crack.

"Do you want to know me?" she asked softly, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

Her warm form, small and yet so comforting, pressing against him, drugged his senses.

"Yes," he breathed out into the cold air, and it was a burden sliding off his shoulders.

"That is well," she said quietly, "for I wish to know you."

"What about me?" he chuckled in the darkness, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly across her knuckles. "I am a Slytherin and a Malfoy, that should tell you something."

"A good deal ambitious, then. What is it that you want most?"

There was no hesitation proceeding his answer. "Power."

"Now, why doesn't _that_ surprise me?" she giggled, shaking her head.

"It does tend to run in the family."

A gentle quiet fell for a moment, the warmth of the girl contrasting the night's persistent chill.

At last she spoke, somewhat solemn. "But is it enough?"

"Influence and Wealth?" he asked, his tone that all too familiar haughty indifference, everything that had been drilled into him for years. "Yeah, I think that'll about do it."

"Nothing of love or happiness?" She knew she was pushing the issue as she felt him tense. She closed her eyes and waited.

"You one of those idealists?" he asked, souring.

"I suppose so," she said, sliding an arm around his waist, feeling him breathe.

There was something in her touch, something solid and so _real_ it made him fight not to shudder. A comforting stillness, an insistent pressure, a charming contradiction. And it felt more tangible, for a split second, then any other contact he'd ever felt.

"Do you hate me for it?" she asked softly. Her voice was low and teasing, trying to lure him back. She squeezed the fingers of the hand she still held, rested her cheek against his shoulder blade through the soft material of his robes.

He was slipping, drowning, falling. He should hate. He should be cocky and sneer at such petty things. But her heat was distracting him. He was going crazy. His lips broke apart, barely moved. Yes… One word, simple. Yes.

He found that he really couldn't.

"No."

She laughed, breathy and indulgent. "I am glad for it."

He wanted to shove her away, gather her close. Impulsively, he caught one of her hands, pulling her around his side. "Come 'ere."

She struggled, her slim hand nearly sliding out of his demanding grasp. "I want to see you. What should it matter?"

"That's a lot to believe from you, who judge everyone by blood and appearance," she protested, the first spark of flame entering her words as she latched around his waist with her other arm.

"Stop being so petty," he growled, scrabbling for her elbow and catching hold of her again. She burrowed against his back.

"You're the one acting like a child," she snapped back.

"It's ridiculous talking to someone like this—I want to see your face," he repeated, and she sighed before allowing him to tug her begrudgingly forward.

"I do not know how well you may succeed," she said, a bit sadly.

He stared at her, eyes narrowing as he studied her closely. Her face was shadows, the planes and features indecipherable no matter how hard he looked. They were both caught in the darkness, and for a moment he could not tell if it was not merely a trick of the lighting. "What are you?" he asked, a bit taken aback, though he kept a close hold on her elbow.

"I knew you would not understand," she said sadly, staring away from him off into the forest, refusing to meet those piercing grey eyes.

"Then why don't you try explaining?" he ground out.

"You cannot see me yet," she admitted.

"But will I?" he asked, pressing her.

"Perhaps."

He laid a hand on her cheek, and she angled her head into the touch. He smiled in the darkness, a ghost of contentment idly curling his thin lips as he brushed his thumb slowly along the soft apple of her unseen cheek. "Hmph, you feel real enough."

She laughed, low and breathy, skimming past his wrist. "You are as changeable as the wind. I never know what to expect."

"Keeps people on their toes," he smirked, unwilling to let his hand slip away from her pliable warmth just yet. "What is your name? You do have a name, right?"

She held the back of his neck, pulling him down. "Karise." A heated puff of air blew against his jaw before she rose and with agonizing slowness placed a firm, warm, gentle kiss on his cheek, fingers fluttering through his hair.

"Get some rest, little dragon," she whispered.

He stood, frozen, before the world foundered in oblivion. He knew nothing until the alarm jolted him awake to the grey dawn the next morning.

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Once again, sorry this took so long. I've been majorly swamped with college stuff lately, and Draco is driving me insane with his stubborn arrogance. He has a freaking lot of it. Grrr. Eros can, thus far, only get him to not be a complete prat when he's dreaming, mainly because he's more open to stuff then, but still... urgh... So vexing. But I am determined. This chapter's at least a little sappy. Yay, sap, we like it... a lot. 


	12. Compensation

When Aiden peeled himself out of bed the next morning, Draco had already vanished into the dim grayness that enveloped their corner of the world. With a disheartened sigh Aiden crawled out of bed, landing heavily on the floor and staring miserably out the window. Not exactly the best way to start off the day. The hardwood was cold beneath him, and the air was filled with a piercing fall chill.

Struggling quickly into his clothing, Aiden slung his bags around his shoulders and trotted out the door after Nott, leaving Goyle and Crabbe to duke it out over their homework with each other as they tried to settle on a communal set of answers. Aiden put the finishing touched to his appearance as he and Nott walked, both boys trying to arrive at a mostly conscious state. Nott was currently winning.

Aiden straightened his collar and turned it down, adjusted his bag, and tucked in the end of his shirt still poking out from under his sweater. He was encouraged to spot Draco at the dining table as he entered the Great Hall.

He was still fussing with his hair when they sat down at the table, and Blaise laughed at him for it. "So should we expect this marvelous prank anytime soon?" the dark skinned boy asked, leaning conspiratorially across the table. "It's getting ridiculously boring around here lately. Nearly solemn, I'd say."

"We could all use a bit of sport," Pansy said, reaching across the table for a piece of toast.

A familiar owl swept by overhead, followed by the _thunk _of a bag and a letter that drifted lazily down onto the place setting in front of Draco. An awkward and immediate silence fell on those surrounding him.

Draco stared at the note in his hands from his mother, shoving the accompanying bag of treats in the direction of the other boys. The short letter was filled with a sense of self pity, fear for the uncertain future, and bitter hatred. Draco knew she was sick of languishing around the big empty mansion alone and her friends constant pity combined with sharp remarks behind her back. She said she missed him terribly, and she guessed rightly that he was being cruelly mistreated by his unsympathetic teachers.

He folded up the small piece of parchment and stuffed it in his pocket.

Before, such a letter would have drawn comments and jokes from the boys. Now there was only a respectful silence, grave looks flying across plates as if he couldn't see them. Not one would poke fun at his expense, not at this.

Without a further word to anyone, Draco rose from his seat, breakfast untouched, and left. Pansy nearly started up after him, but Blaise caught her eye and shook his head pointedly. The others ate in silence, the heavy realization of war hanging like a dismal cloud of the Slytherin table. It was, perhaps, during these solemn and guarded moments, that the house showed its clearest and deepest signs of fierce loyalty, in the silent way they closed ranks to the world around them. They did not whisper or gossip amongst themselves—they understood, commiserated, even supported in their wordless, foreign, detached way.

Draco, meanwhile, billowed down the halls in a storm of black robes toward the courtyard, robes fluttering out behind him, footsteps clattering in a brisk, unforgiving clamor. He bowled into a set of first years scuttling down late to breakfast, shoving through them.

"Hey!" one of the boys sputtered, pulling himself together in time to avoid colliding with the wall. He glared after the retreating Draco, though his female companion sent him a warning look not to do something stupid toward a surly seventh year, and they continued on their way without further incident.

Draco barely noticed them, and thundered off toward the outside, his features disturbingly placid. He was angry. He didn't understand why, but it roiled and churned in his chest, threatened to snap that all too ragged sense of personal control. Emotion and rage coiled in his gut with a poignant wrenching sensation. He felt sick.

This was all stupid, pointless. He didn't care. He was strong, he was independent. He would make them proud. He was ice and cunning and wealth and power and he didn't didn't didn't didn't didn't…

He was a Malfoy, dammit!

Draco grit his teeth and fought the nearly overwhelming urge to slam his clenched fist into the hard, cold stones to his right. His father was in prison and his mother was disgraced and distraught. His sense of personal grandeur and importance was splintering beneath his grasp, the cracks as yet unnoticed. He didn't know anything yet, except the anger.

And still—still his pride struggled on. He stood, staring out into the bleak grey courtyard beneath the low lying foreboding clouds. The air was thick with the scent of storms and rain, of an anticipation that went right through him and thrummed in his veins. He crossed his arms against the cold, letting his weight slide to the side until he came into contact with rough, uneven hewn rock.

Desire and restlessness clawed at him, sunk sharp talons into the emptiness. It was a fire, burning in his blood, trapped with nowhere to go. A frenzy that ate in on itself. A fine tremor ran through him, tense energy driving itself into exhaustion.

An ache awoke in him as he stood there in the dismal passage, treading a taunt line of recklessness and complete apathy. A futile wish for warmth and comfort, for one thing in life that was undemanding and uncontrolling.

Hell, even his pride could take a hit just to feel something solid and reassuring.

He sighed suddenly, gruffly, snapping awake out of his aimless mental wanderings. The bells were ringing. Real life—the mundane, everyday, ordinary things. He smirked to himself, taunting any withered spark of humanity before turning purposefully and striding imperiously off toward class.

Perhaps it was his way of coping, of convincing himself nothing had changed, but for the rest of the day he was an absolute beast to anyone not loyal to him—and not all that particularly congenial to those that were. If any of them suspected him of compensating for anything, they were prodigiously quiet about it.

The entire seventh year Slytherin house adopted a cold, indifferent appearance to everyone else. The walls between them and the rest of the school were slammed shut. They were blunt and sharp to the line of insolence with the majority of their instructors, and sarcasm was the order of the day. Their parents would have been proud. They exhibited every ounce of arrogance and their utmost conviction that they were better than every one else, superior to the other humans and vermin that crawled to and fro on the face of the earth before them.

Eros had had it up to here with the whole matter.

Besides Neville blowing things up, there had been little amusement, and Draco had been so consumed in his own bubble of self-pity and anger that Eros hadn't been the slightest bit able to get him to so much as look at Hermione.

And Mallory was still keeping a close watch on him.

He bristled at the thought. He hated that she felt she had to "keep tabs" on him, and that she commended herself on trying to interfere with his plans. She needed to learn to leave her nose in her books where it belonged and stay out of his affairs.

But the more important and pressing matter at the moment was his necessity to do something destructive. It was that, or he was going to go completely insane. He felt quite adamant about this point as his Charms instructor broke down the steps and processes for establishing a ward within the context of blah blah blah requirements and blah blah blah circumstances and on and on…

What kind of prank could he pull? There was a question to muse upon instead of trying to focus on the ramblings of his teacher. It would have to be fairly juvenile and most likely pretty harmless, present circumstances considered. It couldn't be too extravagant, either… this required the skill set of a student.

He grinned suddenly, a fell fire kindling in his emerald eyes.

Perfect. He'd do it tonight. That should cheer Draco and his crew up a bit.

Now he just needed to stay conscious long enough to make it through his lessons. And tomorrow was full of the promise of Defense against the Dark Arts. Glancing around lazily, he noticed Mallory studying him out of the corner of her eye and quickly suppressed his excitement. If she could just keep her fingers out of his business, things were finally starting to get good..

_Note to self: Talk to mom about getting arrows and gear back from grouchy ol' Athena…_

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I'm trying to update more, I swear. There'll be more about Karise later, I promise. Just know that, for the time being, she _cannot_ be Hermione because of Draco and his current state of severe prejudice. She's not actually a real "person"...yet. We'll get into that later. I'm thinking of taking up another D/Hr story cause I seem to get great feedback from all you fans of the pairing... something about an artifact and an ancient spell and a pair of fated lovers. We'll see how it goes with this one for a while, though, before I attempt 2 stories at once.

And I think I'll probably incorporate "Analyze that" into this story somewhere along the way (yes, the ending will be changed, that should make a bunch of you happy) and possibly "But she laughs" (but I'm not sure about that one).


	13. Too Much Sweet Stuff

Aiden slipped quietly from bed that night amidst the snores of his schoolmates, pulling his outer robes on hastily over his pajamas. Deciding on a more convention approach to flying in case something want awry, he summoned his broomstick.

With a last cautious glance around the room, he left, hurrying up out of the dungeons and through the stairwells to the main floor. All was still along the empty black corridors aside from some late night murmurings amidst a few of the pictures along the walls. Eros flicked his fingers at them, sparks of gold and green sizzling and coiling in the air before fading into the night, and they took no notice of him as he breezed by heading for the doors to the castle.

He picked a spot of stone a few feet from the door and with a distasteful grimace, slid through the wall like a knife through jello. It was a rather disconcerting experience, and one that he generally tried very hard to avoid. He shuddered, ruffling his hair self-consciously before taking a deep breath of the bitterly cold night air and mounting his broomstick.

Kicking off, he rose up into the air, using a quick spell to locate the Gryffindor tower amidst the chaotic and illogical jumble of spires rising up like black spikes against the dark sky. Approaching the uppermost window on the boys' side, he peered in carefully from the edge and was pleased to note that they were all sleeping soundly, naïve and unsuspecting in their beds.

A toothy grin flashed across his perfectly mischievous face, lending it a hint of something feral and dangerous, a glint of fell power. He was in his element—or pretty close to it, in any case—causing trouble and wrecking havoc.

Being as quietly as immortally possible he gritted his teeth and pressed forward, trying not to spill off his broomstick as he emerged roughly through the window. Hovering about four feet off the ground in front of the window of the boys dormitory, he drew from inside a pocket of his robes a small vial of syrup, a combination of thievery from breakfast and Potions class earlier that day, and pulled out the stopper.

He tipped it over and let it spill out onto the floor. A puddle formed, but the vial did not run dry. Instead of dwindling, the flow increased. with a muttered incantation from Aiden to encourage it, until there was a steady stream of thick, gloppy liquid running out and pooling across the hardwood floors. Aiden crinkled his nose at the faint sickly-sweet smell that brushed against his nose—it would probably give at least one of the boys dreams of waffles and pancakes.

It kept pouring, until the floor was nothing more then a lake of syrup at least two inches deep, and Aiden at last tipped the vial back upright and sealed it. With a last glance around the room to admire his handiwork and a triumphant grin at not, thus far, having been detected, he slipped back silently though the wall and went back to his room for the night with no mishaps.

The effect must have been spectacular. Talk of it buzzed through the halls of the school for weeks to come, and Aiden basked in the glow of recognition from his fellow Slytherins. It was enough to keep him smirking all the way through the drudgery of Charms.

Harry and Co. barely managed to make it by the end of class, grumbling about the horde of house elves that had invaded their dorm along with Filch and a couple of the teachers not currently occupied with classes in order to try to ascertain who had caused the disaster and also to try and remove the mess.

This left only the Gryffindor females for the majority of the lesson. Hermione and the rest of the girls, well aware of whom the culprit might be numbered among, sent dirty looks over at the Slytherin side of the classroom all morning.

At least it was enough to put Draco in a good mood, though congenial still seemed beyond his grasp.

The next day they had Defense against the Dark Arts together. Aiden was gleeful, Mallory still irritated with his antics from the day before, and the entire Gryffindor house ready to wage war instead of protect and cooperate. Anteros winced as they came in, one half arrogant and triumphant, the other sulking, angry, and—for a few—murderous.

"Match up with your partners, if you please" he commanded firmly, knowing very well that it was the last thing that would please them at the moment. "I have been informed of the drama yesterday morning, and I realize where the blame has fallen, though there is not yet any proof. Therefore, I would like to reiterate this very important point: You will work with your assigned partner in an appropriate manner—teamwork, that is—or you will fail this class. Alright? Are we clear?"

He looked around sharply, expectantly, and was met with a grumbling set of replies. "Let's begin, then."

Hermione's lip curled in disgust as she stood alongside Draco, and any semblance of a good mood on his part vanished into thin air.

Mallory leaned over as Hermione accidentally elbowed him while raising her arm in a defense, earning a yelp of pain from Draco and a cry of alarm from her as she barely avoided being hit by a hex. "Doesn't look like things are going smoothly," she smirked, putting a body bind on one of their opponents. "But I am impressed that you haven't resorted to potions as of yet. Not have any on hand?"

"You're so kind." Aiden rolled his eyes, deflecting a spell that flew at them from behind. The exercise was pretty much them against everyone else, and vice versa. The goal was to be constantly alert, aware of your surroundings, and, most importantly, to be watching your comrade's back. When spells were flying from every direction, there were only so many things you could pay attention to on your own.

When mixed with bad rivalry and the chaos of dueling it was definitely one of the most challenging assignments any of the students had ever had to face.

Some of them, such as Lavender and Pansy, were starting to get the hand of working together and, despite not usually having the skills to do so single handedly against the more advanced students, were doing pretty decently at holding their own against their struggling classmates.

Harry and Blaise, while each was more then capable in their own right, were having trouble watching out for each other. And neither wanted to admit they needed the other to watch out for them and often tried to handle too much at once. Ron and Crabbe were a wretched sight to behold. Their forms and styles were completely contradictory, as was their size, girth, and speed capabilities. The dialogue between them consisted less of strategy and more of swearing.

But the worst, by far, was the combination of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. She snipped and criticized, he sulked and jeered. They purposefully got in each other's way and each other's face. It was, quite simply, horrific.

In addition, due to their incompetence in operating as a team unit, they were both frequently being hit with jinxes and hexes. They, quite naturally, always found the other to blame.

By the time the exercise was nearing its final, tense moments, they had resorted to a decidedly childish stage of action and reaction. He would make some bullheaded mistake, she would try to correct and or lecture him, he would try to trip her, she would kick his calves, and so on. They were tired, sore, frustrated, and furious at the other at the thought of a failing grade.

It was really no great surprise when something in the delicate balance of sanity and irrationality snapped.

Hermione had just been hit on the shoulder form behind by a hex that caused a brief onset of boils. She rounded on Draco with her eyes narrowed and her face red from exhaustion, pain, and fury. Draco had, in all fairness to the indignation of Miss Granger, seen the shot coming and stepped neatly out of the way with no attempt whatsoever to hinder it. Hermione had caught sight of him as he did it, as well as the malicious glimmer of triumph on his face briefly after the hit.

It the sight of her face scrunched up in wrath was not enough to assure him she was out for blood, the words that followed left no room for doubt.

"I'm going to curse you into next Tuesday, Malfoy!" she thundered, brandishing her wand fiercely, chunks of hair that had slipped loose from her ponytail flying freely around her face.

"I'd like to see you try it, goody-two-shoes," he growled, drawing back and looking for all the world ready to let one fly and teach her a lesson or two about respect.

The commotion around them ground to an abrupt halt as the rest of the class realized that the already explosive environment had ignited. Before Harry and Ron could rush to Hermione's defense, however, the voice of their DADA professor boomed with surprising authority across the room.

"Enough! Wands down, immediately!"

The two firebrands complied, though their eyes were still locked heatedly on each other. They were obviously trying to see whether or not if they stared long and hard enough and with enough hateful intent their enemy would burst into spontaneous flames.

"Granger, Malfoy, you both have detention for the remainder of the week," Nathan declared as he billowed up though the ranks of the students, coming to stand imperiously alongside the glaring pair. "I will not stand for this sort of brawling in my class, from any of you."

"Class is dismissed," he addressed to the rest of the disheveled lot. "Hermione and Draco, I'll be seeing you promptly after dinner."

With that they broke apart, stowing their wands in their robes, ignoring the others existence entirely. Hermione was flanked by Ron and Harry as she swung her bag over her shoulder in a huff and stormed out. Draco's crew gathered around him to commiserate, Crabbe and Goyle laughing and commending him on his actions toward the undeserving little mudblood.

It was more than difficult for Aiden to restrain his enthusiasm. Finally, a chance to get Hermione and Draco stuck together for any period of time in which they couldn't kill one another. He could have hugged Anteros for joy, but that might have made for a bit of an awkward situation.

Mallory had tensed but said nothing—still, he could practically hear the wheels in her mind turning with thoughts of the havoc the two of them would wreck (at least, he liked to imagine they were working overtime on account of him). He quickened his pace and hurried off after the rest of the Slytherin group with a spring in his step.

Dinner passed too quickly for Draco's taste, and he sulked and picked at his meal half-heartedly. "Detention?" he grumbled, stabbing a hunk of potato in anger. "For what, defending myself? She's the one who turned on me."

"It's ridiculously unfair, if you ask me," Pansy agreed, smoothing out her skirts and flicking some tiny crumbs of food off unto the floor. "That bitch pulled her wand on you first."

Goyle smirked. "I think prof should have let you two duke it out."

Aiden bit his tongue to keep the remark, "Why, so you could have your ass handed to you?" from bursting forth. _Must… refrain…_ he chanted, then frowned when he caught himself doing so. He seemed to be having to show restraint an awful lot lately. He wasn't too much a fan of it.

"So much for practice," Draco muttered. "You'll have to do without me."

Aiden shot a pea at Blaise's ear and feigned nonchalance.

"How much longer is Professor Clarke gonna make us partner up for?" Goyle asked, brow furrowed. "I'm ready to kill Longbottom myself. Can he really flunk all of us if we refuse?"

"I'm not risking it," Daphne said, clearly displeased with her predicament. "I need a decent grade in this class or my parents will kill me."

Nods of assent from a large percent of the students met her words.

Nott shrugged. "Fine, so we work with them. It's not like Clarke's asking us to get together and have tea and cucumber sandwiches. It's an assignment—do it, get good marks, end of story. We'll get revenge when we return to normal dueling sessions."

"Ugh." Pansy's lip twisted in a grimace. "This school has become such a joke. Going here, having an education at Hogwarts, used to mean something, you know? Now it's been overrun by every dirty-blooded commoner that wants to attend. My parents nearly sent me to study abroad, but our family has been in this house for generations."

"When this war is over, things will change," Draco declared confidently. "Power will be restored back to those who rightly deserve it."

"Boys and their politics," Daphne laughed, shaking her head with a bemused little smile. "Did no one catch the last Falcons match against the Wanderers?"

"Falcons smoked em," a sixth year named Patrick Grays leaned in to the conversation at the sound of his favorite Quidditch team, elbows resting on the table. "Matthews took a couple of hard hits earlier in the game, but Overton caught the snitch and wrapped things up nicely."

Draco got up from the table as the conversation submersed itself in the popular sport. Across the hall, Professor Clarke caught his eyes and nodded in the direction of their classroom pointedly. The blond teen sighed as he tugged the hem of his sweater down, lingering in the aisle in order to hold off his fate for every extra second he could.

"Just go, you pansy," Nott chortled around a piece of cake. "She can't bite you. Clarke'll probably just make you dust the shelves or something."

Draco glared at him. "It's not her teeth I'm worried about," he said in irritation. "Her bark is worse than her bite—I'm afraid she'll talk my head off with her equal rights babble."

"Just glad it's you and not me, mate." Nott swallowed and licked a spot of frosting off his lip.

With one last grumble under his breath, Draco turned and stalked off toward detention.

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Woot! I'm writing again! Such a wonderful feeling. Thought I'd celebrate the last day of spring quarter by posting a chapter (and it's kinda long... kinda...). I've actually got time to write again, it's a wonderful thing. Eros will be getting his arrows back shortly... I'm sort of dreading it... Like he doesn't cause enough trouble as it is . But it will be hilarious (or so I hope). 

Anybody got any ideas for what Hermione and Draco can do for detention? Humorous and something that makes them talk to each other/interact would be fantastic. (yes, I'm attempting to bum stuff off of my reviewers... bad authoress...bad...)

Thanks for your support! I feed off reviews... yum...


	14. Armed and Dangerous

Hermione blew out a long, resigned breath between her lips, shoulders slumping as she stared down at her empty plate. "I should go."

Harry nodded in reluctant agreement while Ron shook his head while stuffing a roll into his mouth. "That git deserved anything he got for pulling a move like that," the lanky redhead enthused. "Personally, I would have liked to have seen you fry him."

"This exercise is going to kill half the class, I swear," Harry said emphatically, raking a hand through his unruly black hair. "And largely us, I'd reckon, considering the Slytherins tend to fight dirty."

"Yeah, while we're stuck with this wretched sense of right and wrong," Ron chuckled.

Hermione rolled her eyes, unable to help but crack a smile. "How horrid."

"I know," Ron said with a sage nod of the head, reaching across the table for the mashed potatoes.

Hermione groaned, pitying herself for a precious moment longer sandwiched on the seat between her friends before mentally preparing herself and then convincing her legs that they wanted to stand and walk her body toward detention. "I'll see you boys later," she offered, clambering out from the bench.

"Chin out and a stiff upper lip," Ron cheered, jabbing his fork in the air.

"I'll try," she laughed, then marched off toward the doorway she had caught sight of Malfoy disappearing through just moments before. There was a purposeful clip to her step, refusing to be cowered by the impending punishment even though her stomach was coiling into knots of tentative anxiety.

She braced herself as she pushed open the doors and stuck her head into the classroom. The teacher and Malfoy had been engaged in some sort of awkward small talk which broke off when she entered, and she took a seat across from Professor Clarke beside Draco, who was sitting slouched in his chair as if the whole thing were beneath him and his dignity.

Nathan folded his hands in his lap, looking at them both carefully in turn. "This has been going on between you two for a while now, I understand."

They both nodded begrudgingly and said nothing. He launched into their punishment, "Tomorrow I'll have something else for you to do, but today I want you to clean off some of these shelves for me. It shouldn't take that long—then I've made arrangements with Professor Sprout for you to lend her a hand with some slipping or pruning or whatever it was."

Hermione struggled to keep her face from contorting in agony. Draco made no such effort.

"I have business to attend to, but I will stop in to check on you periodically to ensure that things are progressing in an orderly fashion—no fighting, no maiming, no jinxes. Now if you will both hand your wands over to me," he stuck his hand out expectantly and they complied. "You will find some rages and oil over there," Professor Clarke directed them to one of the nearby sills where the cleaning supplies had been set for their use.

With that last instruction Nathan left them still sitting in their seats, glowering at each other. The door closed with a rolling thud after him, traveling up the walls. Its reverberations were felt all the more clearly through the echoing silence that had fallen with the absence of the teacher. At last Hermione huffed dramatically, drawing herself out of her chair and walking over to collect a rag.

"Here," she threw one at Malfoy. "Get your butt up and help me."

He caught it before it could smack him in the face, and shot her a haughty glare as he stood also. His attitude was equivalent to a displeased three year old, making no move whatsoever to conceal his sulking. Without a further word he marched to the opposite end of the shelves and began dusting off the objects and cluttered paraphernalia sprawled there. Hermione, in equal state of indignant silence, began to do the same.

Meanwhile, Aiden had nearly ran into Nott as he walked downstairs to the dorm in search of his plotting notebook, intent on his musings about getting himself into detention along with Draco and Hermione. With a weary sigh he opened the door and stared at the green and silver trapping with a heavy resignation. He was starting to get the slightest bit discouraged with his general lack of progress.

Draco was a hard case, that much was certain.

His face suddenly brightened with a smile at the sight of a peculiarly wrapped package. He nearly whooped in triumph as he bounded forward onto his bed, tearing off the wrapping like a kid at Christmas, dragging it into his lap. Sure enough, as the cumbersome paper fell away, his own familiar bow and quiver lay in his hands with a note tied to the tip of his bow.

_Hope these are of some help._

_Love,_

_Mom_

Aiden grinned and tugged the cord binding the small card to the smooth bar of wood loose, running his fingers along the smooth panes and niches, relearning its form after several weeks absence.

Draco was in detention.

With Hermione.

At that precise moment.

The thought hit him like a thunderbolt hurled by his fearsome kinsman, and he was jolted out of his happy state of reconciliation and celebration by the call of duty. He quickly slung the strap of his quiver over one shoulder and across his chest, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Perfect timing. Hefting his bow in his deft hands, he set off down the stairs.

With all of the wards placed all over the castle, it was not a pleasant option to take the invisibility route. He had attempted it successfully, but it was difficult and rather uncomfortable to sustain. The magic placed over the entire school seemed to disagree with him on certain points, it seemed.

Aiden could, however, easily shrink down his weapon and slip it into his pocket before heading downstairs toward the classes. While his classmates could not see it in the first place, it would be awkward to try and carry it out in the open. His quiver was fine as it was, and hung invisible to mortal eyes across his back.

He navigated his way through the school down to the DADA classroom, stepping neatly behind a pillar as Goyle and Crabbe stalked by in search of someone to terrorize. The first years had better watch out, Aiden thought as he continued on, valiantly battling distractions and obstacles along the way. Had that hot Ravenclaw just winked at him as she walked by? He forced himself to keep walking forward. Focus man, focus… Squaring his shoulders, he turned the corner and came face to face with the door leading to the classroom. Bingo.

Scuffling and other such industrious noises could be heard inside as the two enemies cleaned and grumbled to themselves. Aiden cast a hasty glance around to make sure no one was lurking about, keeping a sharp ear out for the sound of anyone intruding upon his troublemaking.

It was the work of a moment to breathe a silencing charm on the doors and dig out his bow. Returning it to its original size, he slid the door open and forced a subtle impression on Hermione and Draco's minds so they would not notice the slight disturbance his presence made. It was fairly simple work—they were both so absorbed in their personal misery he doubted they would have noticed him in the first place.

He nocked an arrow into place, drawing the string back and feeling that old, well known strain run down his muscles as he steadied his aim. With remarkable patience he waited until Draco maneuvered himself into position, with his unsuspecting back to the arrowhead leveled at him. A smirk of triumph graced Aiden's face, and he blew softly on the feather of the fletching brushing alongside his cheek with a sparkle and crackle for luck, then let the arrow fly.

Invisible to the eyes and senses of mortals, it flew through the air and bit deep into Draco's back. The blond boy twitched, standing up straight with a sharp hiss and scratching at his back at what he equated as being a possible bug bite. Discovering nothing to confirm his fears, and with the sting quickly faded into nothingness, Draco cast a suspicious eye around the room, but Aiden had already beat a hasty retreat back through the door.

With a poof that Draco was completely unaware of the arrow disintegrated and the potion slipped into his veins. Oblivious, he continued scrubbing away at the grubby crevices far back in the forgotten depths of the shelves, focused on getting his tasks completed as quickly as possible and with as little effort as possible without having to go back and redo this nightmare.

It was not until he dragged himself out to survey his work, swiping at the wayward strands of hair brushing against his forehead with the back of his hand, being careful not to get cleaning oil or grim on his face, that he let his eyes roam over what they had accomplished in fifteen minutes of slavery . They were a little more then half through, and making good headway now that they'd both settled (albeit reluctantly) into a sort of pattern.

He figured Hermione was probably working faster then him. But he didn't mind—she had more practice in this sort of thing, no doubt. What with a non magical family like hers, she was accustomed to doing all sorts of menial housework like this. He glared severely at the rag in his hands. This was disgusting—how did her kind survive? It was wretched to think that the only method they had of cleanliness was such drudgery. It was practically barbaric.

Still, he was doing a fairly decent job for a civilized young man forced into the work of a house elf. Not bad, he thought to himself as he examined what he'd accomplished thus far. He decided to take a look to see how Hermione was progressing. He looked over at her side of the wall, watching as she prodigiously scrubbed a small, ornate clock.

Not bad at all…

Draco frowned with a violent start as the world jerked back to harsh reality, realizing he was studying her and not the effects of her little mudblood peasant cleaning skills. He had been watching her hands, thin little delicate fingers, moving so carefully, just like her. And the next thing he knew his eyes were studying her intently knit brow, trailing down over her white skin, down her neck…

Oh hell, he was going to be sick.

There was no way he, Draco Malfoy, had been trying to catch a glimpse of some sort of tapered curve beneath that baggy sweater. Absolutely no—he froze as she looked up at him, eyes sharpening under his scrutiny before softening to quizzical at the confused look in his wild gaze.

He gathered himself together, and had the rag in his hand been capable of breathing, it would have been strangled in his death grip. Draco turned back to his work with a vengeance, struggling to scrape together his icy, haughty demeanor. He was practically chanting to himself at this point. I am a cold, heartless bastard…I am a cold, heartless bastard…I am a…

A simple look darted in her direction had arrested his attention entirely as he studied her thin frame stretching up to reach one of the higher boards, face pinched with determination. Her hair was slipping out its bun. Long, reckless strands were getting in her way, and she blew them out of her eyes impatiently. His fingers twitched to touch them, brush them away.

Could they possibly be softer then they appeared?

This. Is. Not. Happening.

His breathing became sharper as he forced himself to stare straight ahead. The blank eyes of a shrunken pygmy head from Lord knows where stared back at him, and he recoiled at the sight, grimacing at the grotesque keepsake. Where did the teachers pick this stuff up, anyway?

Just for the record, he believed firmly that her hair would eat him if he got to close.

It was a monster.

She was coming closer and closer as her efficient, diligent work shoved them nearer to completion of the chore and to each other. She shot him a dirty look for his lack of progress and grumbled under her breath about pureblooded egotism. Draco poured himself into the task at hand, ignoring her as she bustled along. They finished quickly, and Draco retreated to a bench, stretching out along it and staring up at the ceiling while Hermione seated herself properly a good twenty feet away.

He had heartily convinced himself of all the terrible attributes of the little miss know-it-all without the span of a minute, and he sat up with his usual confidence as the door opened to admit Professor Clarke, who was waving his wand at the hinges for some reason and mumbling beneath his breath. He looked between the two student intently as he entered, resting sharply on Draco.

Draco, in response to the intrusive gaze, folded his arms and stared the other man down with all the force of his breeding, and Nathan hid a smile at the show of bravado. He sensed his brother's work immediately upon entering the room, and was pleased to note that Eros had left Hermione alone for the time being. It was a good move, a strategic move, and he hoped that maybe some of Aletheia's influence was rubbing off on him.

He sniffed the air, detecting the faint strains of the potion still lingering, and was pleasantly surprised. The dose was not enough to drive the poor boy to distraction or some drastic act of passion that would spell horrible consequences, but it would be a good shove in the right direction.

Bravo, Eros, he thought with a brotherly swell of pride.

"If you'll follow me," he waved toward the door. "Professor Sprout is waiting for you in the greenhouse."

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A new chapter! And with some action!! Woot! And it's long too! Ah, the world is good... I finally sat down and forced myself to get this out of my head and on to paper like a good little author. There's some things I don't like but... I figured better to post now and fix later... especially when it's getting fun. 


	15. Here There Be Monsters

Draco stared at what appeared to be a pruning machete in his hands and then back at the pond in front of them.

"You have _got_ to be joking," Hermione said in disbelief beside him.

My sentiments exactly, he thought wryly.

"Be careful not to get dragged under," Professor Sprout said cheerily, handing Hermione an identical pair of cutters. "And try not to get in each other's way. Professor Clarke asked me to inform you that if you injure one another, no matter who is at fault, you will both be in serious trouble with the headmaster."

Half listening to what she said, Draco's attention was focused on the slithering mass of seaweed-like tentacles swaying and churning beneath the surface a ways off into the pool. "Can't we stun it?"

"No, no," the teacher looked shocked by the suggestion. "Ferushydra are particularly sensitive to such spells. You'll be fine."

"How do we do this?" Draco asked, feeling rather stupid in the ridiculous waders they had been forced to don.

"Just jump right in. He won't bite." She smiled encouragingly and gave them both a nod to tell them to get going. Then she left them, trailing off back into the greenhouse with a watering can and a strange wand-ish device with a peculiar set of curls at one end to do who knows what.

Draco took a step forward, dipping a hesitant toe into the murky water. When the plant made no move to show it was adverse to his presence, he proceeded to stick both his feet in at the very edge. Still no reaction. Feeling a bit more confident since he was still in one piece after having invaded the zone of the pond's sole inhabitant, he plodded in until the water was swirling around his knees. The water was in constant motion, churned up and kept in a continuous whirlpool by long, leafy arms. "Come on, Granger," he called back sharply over his shoulder. "Quit being such a baby and get in. Aren't all you Gryffindors supposed to be brash and reckless?"

Her face scrunched in indignation and wrath, her grip tightening on the shears she held defensively in front of her, walking out to join him with wary eyes on the deceptively docile looking creature.

"How are we going to get at it when it's underwater?" Hermione asked quietly, keeping her voice low in the chance that it could hear her as she leaned forward as far as she dared to study it.

"Easy, get it to come up," Draco said superiorly, leaning over and digging up a rock from the gooey floor. Disgusted, he shook the algae infested grime of his hand and pulled back his arm to launch it.

"No!" Hermione hollered, stopping just short of grabbing at his sweater in panic. "What if you upset it?"

Her reaction earned her an eye roll. Females. "It'll be fine, Miss Prissy. It's a plant, for crying out loud." With that he fired the rock straight into the heart of the coiling seaweed. Hermione groaned in frustration.

Nothing extraordinary happened as a response to the offensive projectile, however. Neither of them noticed the momentum of the water had slower. "Real effective, Malfoy," Hermione quipped. "Now what?" she started prodding down into the water with the shears, testing the depth and venturing forward.

"You got anything better?" he snapped back.

"Let's go in deeper," she directed, glancing in his direction. "We're not going to get anywhere just standing back in the shallows." A long, sinewy branch slithered toward Draco beneath the surface, and Hermione caught sight of it just before it latched around his leg. He yelped in surprise as the arm coiled with remarkable alacrity up his leg and sharply tugged him off balance, dumping him on his butt.

While he fumbled around in the churned up water for his shears, Hermione leapt over and neatly snipped the branch neatly off. Soaking wet, Draco struggled to his feet, wiping at the spatters of mud on his face.

Hermione couldn't help her smirk at the sight, and he pulled a face, flicking his hair and sprinkling grimy water across her. Things might have turned ugly between them at that point, but they both happened to notice movement down at the other end of the pool. Large, dripping leaves were unfurling from the depths as the freshwater creature rose with a disgruntled air from the depths, thick tentacles breaking the surface.

"Oh shit," Draco muttered, collecting his shears and kicking off the clinging residue from his leg.

"No kidding," Hermione shot back.

A handful of angry arms green plant arms shot out toward them. They managed to dodge out of the way, and Draco yelled out, "Start cutting."

Hermione angrily sliced off several of the offending tentacles. "This is pruning?" she muttered to herself, pinning one down with her boot and dismembering it. The thorns on her mom's rosebushes were starting to look almost friendly at this point.

With her focus being taken up by an unruly squiggler in front of her, she was too preoccupied to notice the sizable tentacle rising from the water to her far left. That is, until it decided to lashed out, slamming into her side and sending her flying. The hit tore a scream of shock from her throat, cut off as she landed roughly in the water near it. Immediately, more vines began latching onto her legs, dragging her close.

Fear began to show in her face alongside of determination and frustration. She struggled for purchase on the grimy floor, but it was too deep to get any real hold. A sob of panic hitched in her throat as she kicked out, terrified as the grip only tightened, flopping her onto her back and dragging her farther under.

She wasn't strong enough to break free, and the realization that she could be in some serious trouble capsized suddenly on her as her lungs began to clamor for oxygen. She tore at the floor desperately, trying to jerk her legs free.

A crash broke the water around her, a moment of absolute chaos. In the midst of it she was tossed upward, and she sucked in a mad gasp of air before being slammed back underwater. She could barely see anything. Her head was pounding with pressure and her vision was a mess of blurry images.

Finally, the tension slackened around her. Seizing at this opportunity, she began thrashing desperately, kicking free of the jumble. Hands grabbed at her arms, their hold too rough to be comfortable and yet somehow blessedly comforting as they hauled her upright. Panting raggedly for breath, she slumped in Draco's hold while he continued slashing at the remaining few tentacles, finishing them off.

For a moment, she purposefully ignored the identity of her rescuer in favor of garnering oxygen. Her hands balled the fabric of his shirt in tight fists as she fought for balance, knees shaking. She buried her face away from the world, headache throbbing mercilessly.

After the last straggling arm receded, Draco realized she was still in his arms, clutching his sweater. He could feel her trembling like a scared pygmy puff. His arm was locked around her waist, dragging her firmly against him to help keep her upright.

A gentleman would have asked if she was okay. She clung to him for support, feet sliding in the muck. Something like a sob wrung its way loose, and she shivered, hair plastered against her cheeks.

He was a bastard.

Adrenaline rushed through his veins, shears still held out protectively in front of them. She was holding onto him, but he in turn had yet to relinquish his hold on her. It was awkward—he was completely unsure of what his reaction should be.

He still didn't move.

Somehow…it seemed to fit.

He didn't get it, didn't even fully comprehend the feeling at the moment. All he did was stand there. And he didn't really feel motivated to move, didn't really mind the fact that she was only soaking him farther. As she regained her breath, she stiffened uncomfortably, slowly unclenching her fists and pushing away from him. His arm dropped from her waist, hanging stiffly at his side.

"Thank you," Hermione mumbled begrudgingly, the words clearly forced. She refused to meet his eyes, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Mortified at her predicament, she berated herself for latching onto him in such a ridiculous fashion even though her legs still felt unsteady underneath her. She backed away quickly, shoving strands of strangling hair behind her ears.

Draco stared down at her, feeling a twinge of revulsion in the fact that the little mudblood had just been in very close quarters a moment before. She glanced up at him just in time to catch his sneer replacing the confusion of a moment before, and they both let the old familiar enmity fill the space between them. It was easier.

"You and your friggin stupid rock," she growled angrily, wringing out her hair with shaking hands.

"You can't blame this on me," he shot back.

"Oooh, I blame you." She struggled toward the bank, picking up her cutters along the way and tossing them out onto the grass.

In his perch in a nearby tree, Aiden smirked. If only it would be possibly to keep them in detention all year round. It certainly made for lively entertainment. Pondering a solution to his dilemma, he leapt down out off the high branch and landed lightly on the ground. He headed back toward Hogwarts with his hands tucked into his pockets and a spring in his step.

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Lots of vacation funness delays, but here it is. I'm all nice and tan and happy and typing away. Three cheers for driving Draco insane! So much fun... and it's only going to get worse (at least for him, better for us). Kudos to anybody who knows what movie the title's quote is from. 


	16. Sanity is in the eye of the Beholder

Draco slept erratically that night, his dreams rushed and stilted. They were full of her—Karise, with her shadowed face, her gently shattering questions, dizzying warmth, frustrating comfort. She pushed him, infuriated him. Left him empty and wanting more.

He woke with a start to the sound of his wand chirping and waved his hand at it to silence the alarm charm. He raked a hand through his hair, feeling the sheen of sweat slick on his forehead from his fitful sleep, pausing to see if he could detect a fever. He felt half-delusional, the world around him not registering after tossing and turning through a night that had felt so endless. He slumped forward and buried his face against his palms, drawing in several calm breath to try and settle himself back down into reality.

"_You don't believe in anything beyond yourself, do you?"_

_It was not a question. _

_He should have hated her, been furious at her. In the arrogant depths of his soul he knew he would have been within his rights to hit her for saying such a thing, for questioning where his loyalties lay._

_Instead he stood there as she laid her soft, delicate hand alongside his frowning face and simply said, "You have nothing you consider worth your life," in a sad little voice that echoed with deep regret and unfulfilled promises. _

_Anger had flooded through him. She must have felt it—her hand slipped away, but before he could scrape together a proper response she had tangled her arms around him and pressed her lips firmly to his, insistent and demanding, searing away the uncertain and cold chaos she had churned up with the blistering heat of touch and the firm concrete of the physical. _

He crawled out of the gnarled sheets with a low, groggy curse, dragging a shirt on over his shoulders and fumbling with the buttons. She was driving him fucking insane. He didn't remember much else of what he had dreamed last night, just snatches and odd half-recollections that spliced together amidst all the times he had woken up only to fall back into the same frantic jumble.

He remembered her arms, her touch, her warmth, intermingled with anger, indignation, a dizzying tension pulling him apart, and a mess of uncertainty. She was spinning him around, pushing him, trying him, holding him close while shoving him away and drawing him back.

He was not aware of the fact or its significance, but he felt no hate.

The one thing that came so easily to him, that seemed to most likely and natural for him to feel was strangely absent. All he could feel was out of sorts, thrumming with the remnants of something he couldn't name that had been left unsatisfied and aching. He hurried through the halls, gaze flossed over and his face a stern, superior mask as he avoided meeting anyone's eyes.

Luckily, this was easy enough for a person of his rank and status in the House of Slytherin. Hatred of the school hierarchy came only from those on the lower rungs. He had been raised with the belief that it was natural to have a place in society—and since he was in good standing by his own standards he had no problems with it.

He ignored the Great Hall, the normally tantalizing scent of breakfast only turning his stomach that morning. He headed for the courtyard, swinging himself up onto a railing along one of the corridors. The cold blew through him and he hunched his shoulders against the sensation of having everything swept out of him.

The feeling triggered something inside of him and pieces of his long night began to drift back through his head. He'd been spilling through the open sky, he remembered indistinctly, pressing the limits of how fast, how high he could go. The freedom of flight drained him of everything, left only him and the wind and that blessed weightlessness.

"_Why seek emptiness, when there is so much more?"_

Her voice drifted through his head, and he barely kept himself from groaning out loud. Another of her questions, running through his dreams, pushing him around. She wanted to paint everything idyllic, pretty colors and lines and depth and fucking sentimentality. He didn't understand it at all, didn't get what drove her.

Though, even he had to admit she painted a damn good picture.

He could catch brief, barely tangible glimpses of how it could be, what the world looked like through her window, when they were together and she sent him spinning through her mind. She'd whisper about things that sounded so bloody noble, but they tasted so sweet against her lips.

He growled low in his throat and swatted at some sort of hanging project for one of the younger year student's divination class before stalking away. The castle looked nothing but dismal as he headed back inside—al dark majesty and imposing stone. It was going to be a long day, and he hadn't even had his first class yet.

The day was everything he could have anticipated—uneventful and morose. The weather was starting to get to most of the students, it seemed. All except that batty Luna girl out of Ravenclaw. She had flashed him a mischievous smile as she skipped past him in the hall, long dirty blonde hair bouncy behind her. Even Draco had to admit himself a bit unnerved by her.

Some days he felt like he lived in the middle of a loony bin instead of an elite wizarding school.

He smirked to himself as he left Potions class, shoving a few younger students out of his way and into the waiting clutches of Crabbe and Goyle to mess around with. Watching Professor Snape terrorize the Gryffindors in the class was always an entertaining way to pass the afternoon.

Looming overhead, of course, was the knowledge that later that day he would have to endure detention with miss smarty-pants Granger. Oh horrors. That girl, with her snippy little comments and general air of prissy "I know so much more than you do that your presence on this earth is not even necessary" demeanor. She drove him absolutely crazy.

Aiden fell into step beside him as they made their way down to the Quidditch fields for practice, looking for all the world like a cat that had just eaten the canary. Draco shot him a questioning look, but said nothing about it. What he didn't see was the quiver slung at Aiden's back. The god of love had skived off class for some good old fashioned hunting, cupid-style.

Indeed, at that very moment, he commended himself on the fact that a Gryffindor boy who had been teasing a young Hufflepuff girl was now hopelessly infatuated and that a pair of damn good looking Ravenclaws were probably snogging each other senseless in some dark hallway. Life was good.

All this was unknown to Draco as they exchanged playful banter about the upcoming game and antics from the last match. Draco was trying to squeeze in a quick practice make up for missing yesterday, though he was still going to be missing out on the majority of the group exercises because of his detention again later that evening.

Just wonderful, he thought to himself as he drew his broom out of the locker, checking the stirrups before heading out into the ring. Aiden had disappeared, but he barely noted it before turning his attention back to more important things, slinging a leg over his hovering broom and signaling for one of the younger, starry eyed students that had accompanied the team out to serve as lackeys in order to watch them practice up close to release the snitch.

For a brief amount of time, he could forget everything, absolutely everything, in the adrenaline that pulsed through his blood as he chased after that elusive golden prize. And Aiden wandered off to discuss some important matters with Professor Clarke.

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Summer makes it so hard to keep up... and this chapter was being a real pain (it refused to come out anything less then dramatic in the beginning). My writing style seems to be bouncing a lot with this story, but hey, that's life--amusing, sad, grumpy, snarky, all over the place.

For those despairing at the lack of action, I have already plotted out a) Gryffindor's retaliation prank and b) further shoving together of the couple on the part of Professor Clarke so... hopefully the next chapter should spill out fairly quickly. 

Aiden's been looking a tad trigger happy lately though, never a good sign...


	17. Pink Isn't His Color

"How much longer do you have detention for?" Blaise asked, buttering his roll.

"Dunno. Just today… I hope. Can't stand much more of this," Draco grumbled. "Nearly got eaten y some hellish plant outside. If my father knew, he'd be furious."

"It's wrong, it is—you being forced into close quarters all the time with that sniveling mudblood," Goyle said indignantly, conviction running brutish in the undertones of his voice as he pouted himself some more pumpkin juice.

"Let's not talk about it," Draco said, obviously grouchy, talking around a mouthful of food. "Any word yet on the latest Quiddie match?"

Grateful for the distraction, the conversation digressed into more comfortable topics and they laughed, shoved, joked, and feasted their way through the meal time. About half-way through desert, however, complications arose.

Goyle paused halfway through grabbing another cupcake, his eyes widening as he stared at Draco. "Ummm…"

"What?" Draco snapped, glowering at the other's flabbergasted scrutiny.

"Malfoy, your face…" Blaise said slowly, leaning forward to get a better view.

Draco froze. "Goyle, you're green."

"How green?" Goyle asked in horror.

"Green as the grass, green," Draco shot back.

Beside him, Blaise was steadily flushing lighter than his native dark skin tone into a brilliant orange. "Aww, hell no," the other boy muttered.

"What colour am I?" Draco growled, napkin clenched in one fist. Crabbe was in the process of turning a dark maroon farther down. Pansy, who had been seated beside Blaise, fled the Hall with her skin a sickly yellow.

Blaise shifted uncomfortably, than told him. "Pink."

Nott, the only boy in the nearby vicinity who was a normal shade, leaned forward in his seat and plucked at one of the desserts with a fork. "I'd guess these are what did it," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Draco seethed. It appeared the only deserts in the Dining Hall that had been hit were the ones that had been set in front of him and his companions. "Why that little…" he trailed off, rising from his seat. They stormed off to the boys dormitory, but not before news of what had transpired swept like wildfire down the rows of tables.

Beating a hasty retreat, laughter rose to a noisy din around them along with joking from the other Houses. Meanwhile, down at the Gryffindor table, Ron thumped Hermione on the back while he and Harry laughed, and she smiled with a gleam of triumph in her brown eyes as she delicately bit into a cupcake.

"You nasty little mudblood! I know this was your doing!" Draco stormed up to Hermione as she headed toward the DADA classroom.

She glanced over at him coolly, chin tilted confidently in the air. "Malfoy, is that the_only_ insult in your limited vocabulary?"

"Bitch," he spat out, his aristocratic features marred by his venomous anger.

She rolled her eyes and continued walking. "Oh, that's so much more impressive."

"I hate you."

"Tell me something I_don't_ already know." If the sarcasm got any thicker in her words, it was going to solidify.

He barely managed to keep himself from dragging his wand out and dueling with her right there in the middle of the hallway. "It's so obviously your doing, getting those nasty critters to do your bidding."

"You really can't take a joke, can you?" She laughed, a grin splitting her face. "Man, you Slytherins sure love to dish it out, but you're terrible at taking return fire."

"I didn't have anything to do with the whole Gryffindor dormitory incident!" he protested vehemently.

"I'm sure that by this point of our schooling your familiar with House rivalry," Hermione stated with infuriatingly condescending equanimity. "Consider it 'taking one for the team'".

They stopped in front of the big double doors, and things might have turned ugly at that moment if Professor Clarke had not stuck his head out. "Not having a problem here, are we?"

Malfoy's face had about half a second to switch from 'grotesque glare of fury' to 'coldly polite student' mode. The transformation was more then a little amusing, and Hermione still maintained a triumphant smirk around the impudent corner of her mouth as they were ushered into the classroom by their teacher. Draco settled from glaring at the back of her head when the teacher couldn't see.

"What do you want us to do today?" Hermione asked politely.

Draco glowered at her. When had the obnoxious, insecure little brat turned into such a sharp snippet? Probably Potter's influence. Gall seemed to run in _that_ group. Some sort of bonding of the underprivileged, deluding themselves into taking pride in their disgrace. His lip curled faintly as he glanced over at her, sitting all proper with her little snub nose in the air.

Pathetic.

Meanwhile, Professor Clarke was talking. He realized he should probably tune into that conversation. Something about closets…

"You'll be helping to clear out some of the cupboards there in the back," he gestured to a side cubby that was lined with dark paneled shelving units. "Apparently some of the storage units in this place haven't been touched for a few rounds of professors. You all seem to zip right through Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers around here, or so I've been warned. Unfortunately, that also means there's some odd piles of stuff that have been stuffed aside as each new victim was assigned the position, and some of it hasn't seen the light of day in years.

"Seeing as you're both seventh year student, and relatively capable individuals, I'm sure you'll have the maturity and ability to deal with anything you come across in there. Try to sort out anything that doesn't appear to be relevant to your schooling. If you're in doubt on something, leave it out and I'll deal with it later. Also, take care—I've been informed that some pixies may taken up shelter in there."

"Terrific," Draco muttered under his breath. He hated pixies.

"Something wrong?" Professor Clarke asked sternly, fixing Draco with a sharp look.

"Just so excited," Draco said, pulling himself up straighter out of the slouch he had slid down into. "How long do you wager this is gonna take us?"

"Have more interesting plans for the evening?" Clarke inquired. "How long it takes depends largely on how fast and hard you two work. Shouldn't take that long if you really go for it. I'll be just down the hall helping Professor Flitwick with some of his materials for tomorrow's classes if you need me."

They stood as he left, eyeing each other warily.

"Shall we?" Hermione asked, shaking her head in that way distinctly hers as she spoke, shaking her curls around her small shoulders.

"After you," he said, mock bowing and gesturing off toward the alcove.

She stomped forward, picking a set of doors on the far left and throwing them open. A pile of wooden slabs covered in faded paint slid out and clattered to the floor loudly, and she lunged forward, shoving all the ones she could catch back from the avalanche while the rest lay at her feet.

"Smooth, Granger," Draco said, taking more care as he opened his own set of doors. A mish-mash of random tools, maps, and the like lay inside, coated in a heavy layer of dust. He coughed as some of the particles flew up into his face from the circulating air, and he covered his mouth, taking a step back.

"Gross!" Hermione said, brushing roughly at the grimy dust that had streaked all down the front of her sweater, grumbling under her breath.

Draco tentatively picked up a jar with something resembling a canned sea slug floating around in a sea of yellowish-green liquid. _My thoughts exactly…_

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I've finally gotten around to taking up this story again. And yes, things will finally start to heat up. Eros is armed and (he likes to think) dangerous, and I have a fairly fun idea for how to handle the remainder of this cleaning experience (there's no way they're gonna get out of this without trouble). It's so much fun to actually be writing again... School has been such a downer lately. Love ya, lemme hear what you think! 


	18. Enchantment

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"How long have we been at this?" Draco growled, swiping at his brow and glancing out the darkened window. He spun an ancient decoder covered in mysterious symbols around in his hands, letting the dials travel around and around and around...

"Eternity," Hermione sighed to herself, halfway into a low shelf with a damp rag.

Unseen to either of them, Aiden was perched up in the rafters, sitting leaning up against one of the beams with one legs dangling down, bow loosely in hand. He was watching carefully for some sort of opportunity.

Hermione let out a sharp cry as she jammed her finger into a heavy object stuffed back in the far corner that she had missed. The shock caused her to bolt upright and bash her head against the overhanging ceiling of the shelf above her. Draco ignored her.

Rubbing her head balefully, she fished around in the shadowy recess for the offending item, dragging it out.

"What's this?" Hermione mused grumpily, turning the ornate box over in her hands. It was weighty and solid, and had an air of ancient mystery about it. Just looking at it, one knew instinctively that it held something of great import.

Aiden grinned, sitting forward in anticipatory delight, eyes flashing golden in the darkness.

She blew on the top, then scrubbed at the heavy dust with the rag. The rich, cherry-hued wood was inlaid with delicate gold scrolling around the entire thing, and there were meticulously painted panels on the sides entwined with golden vines that twisted across the surface. She studied the artwork with scholarly fascination, dragging it up into her lap.

It seemed there was some kind of a dramatic tale woven into the box, but she could not quite make out what it was—the moving depictions were faded and worn. She could find no joints on it, no clasp, and having read one or two things about puzzle boxes, she was intrigued. She tapped her nails against the golden crest emblazoned on the top a moment, and shot a discreet glance over to check on Draco—he appeared to be too preoccupied destroying some sort of ancient statue—and began pressing at common trigger points along the corners and panels.

For a while there appeared to be no solution—she nearly gave it up once twice, set it down in frustration at least that many times. But she was always taunted by her own inquisitiveness to give it another go until at last with a satisfactory click the top swiveled free and the sides fanned out.

Inside, a single, exquisitely crafted glass rosebud was set in a small stand that spread out beneath it. The base was shaped like green leaves, four of them supporting the delicate creation. The white rose stood out, pure and lovely, against the surrounding dark red of the wood and the rich evergreen of the lining. She drew the box closer and, awed by the realism of it, brushed a gentle fingertip along the edge of a tightly closed, glossy petal.

The entire blossom flushed a vibrant crimson at her light touch.

The glassy sheen slid away down the length of the rosebud, vanishing entirely. A velvety softness replaced the former hardness, and the dark bud began to slowly unfurl, petals spreading wide. Hermione's eyes widened in alarm as she stared at it, but only for a moment.

The fear of consequence was dismissed as the intoxicating scent of the flower flooded her senses. She stooped over it, breathing it in deeply, unaware of the enchantment already leeching into her. The fragrance was sweet, but not sickly, more of an earthly smell, calming and clean like a still sunrise.

A haze stole across her eyes, an unnatural weariness tugging her eyelids lower. Her will natively resisted, her mind trying to flutter clear. She recalled faintly that she was supposed to be doing something, but she couldn't quite recall what it was. It all seemed quite unimportant at the moment. She blinked, struggling a moments. Her thoughts swam sluggishly, darting here and there feebly.

Maybe it would make more sense after she had slept…

Draco happened to look over at her at that moment, his attention drawn by the lack of industrious activity next to him that he had become somewhat accustomed to. His nose wrinkled as he studied her, sitting stooped over some sort of box that had been flipped open, with a decidedly dopy look on her thin face. He ventured a gruff, "Granger?"

She twitched, brown eyes startling open. However, they were still not quite normal, even he could tell that. The look she turned on him was disturbingly blank, clearly not able to recognize him.

"What's wrong with you?" Draco asked, shoving the junk out of his lap and leaning over toward her. "I mean, besides the usual," he felt obliged to add, in case there was any doubt that he still loathed her very existence.

In the rafters, Aiden steadied his aim.

Draco grabbed her by the shoulders, giving her a rough shake. Aiden flicked his fingers free of the string and let the arrow fly. No sound betrayed the action to the physical world. The shaft zinged through the air and bit deep into Draco's back, piercing his heart.

He flinched, clutching at his chest as it tightened with a sharp pressure, but the sensation quickly passed. Hermione's eyes fluttered open and locked on him, and a brief spark of understanding kindled in them. The slight distance between her and the enchanted rose afforded by her turning to face Draco allowed a moment of murky realization. She was frightened, but it was so numbed it appeared only as confusion across her features.

"I…can't…" She struggled to form speech, slurring and tripping over the words. Abruptly, her eyes rolled back and she pitched sideways from her seated position.

She hit the ground before her could stop her, though the impact was not too severe, being cushioned by the arm that hung uselessly at her side. Draco stared in baffled astonishment a moment, then summed up the situation in a flash as he caught the scent of the rose.

Slamming the lid back into place, he shoved the entire box back into the cupboard as far as he could, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible. "Shit, Granger, you know better than that," he growled, tapping her cheek. She was so pale, but he couldn't determine if this was a new occurrence, or just her normal pallor from spending way too much frickin time in the library with her nose stuffed into "Hogwarts: A History" . He was worried, more worried than he would care to admit. "Come on, wake up."

She refused to stir. He swore under her breath, acting on adrenaline. He dragged her limp form into his arms, the action awkward and unfamiliar. She was heavier than she looked. He flicked his head to clear the hair that had clumped in his eyes as he clambered to his feet, crunching something underfoot. Hopefully it wasn't too important.

Muttering under his breath, he stumbled toward the door as fast as he could.

"I had better not get blamed for this, that's all I have to say."

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Woohoo! Some action! Told you things would start getting better. Always love hearing feedback, yadda yadda yadda. Basically: I started updating again, you'd better review. 


	19. The NotQuite Fairy Tale Princess

Her eyes opened slowly, and she blinked owlishly. "Wha—what happened?" she mumbled, bracing a trembling hand against his chest. Fear and confusion warred for predominance in her stricken expression. "Who are you? Put me down!"

He was so tempted to drop her spazzy ass right there on the stone floors.

"Fine, but don't blame me if you fall over. You knocked yourself out with a fricken flower, moron."

"Were you there?" she asked softly as he set her down. She swayed, pressing cold fingers to her throbbing temple and moaning. Her knees buckled treacherously, and she tangled her hands in his robe to keep from falling.

"Of course," he scoffed, "We were cleaning the closets."

"I can't remember," she whispered hoarsely, clinging to him as she started shuddering. "Start telling me things."

"Like what?"

"Anything." The panic was palpable in her voice.

"You're an obnoxious know-it-all named Hermione, and I'm a very pissed off fellow student Draco. We go to school here at Hogwarts when we're not irritating the heck out of each other, and were serving detention together following a defense exercise gone wrong. Ring any bells?"

The look on her face read as a terrified negative.

"We need to get you to infirmary," Draco informed her, steering her down the hall. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Her lips moved soundlessly for a few moments before she could form words. "I don't…. the only thing I know right now is you. Everything before is just…lost. I'm sorry." She was struggling to keep her feet under her.

Her fingers were so small, her hands so fragile. She kept slipping, trying to support herself. Draco grimaced, then finally relented the inward struggle and wrapped an arm firmly around her waist, hauling her up. "Alright, princess, let's get moving," he growled.

"What's going to happen?" she asked, biting her lip and focusing on keeping moving. She still felt watery, all her limbs heavy and uncoordinated.

"I have no idea," was his static reply.

They were making pretty decent progress now, though he could tell she was still dragging her feet pretty heavily. Whatever the heck that thing was, it had a kick to it. She swerved suddenly, her legs tangling, and she nearly toppled over, but he caught her and pulled her up against himself, steadying her. His chest tightened in apprehension at the half-dazed expression she was wearing—her eyes were lidded and she wasn't really responsive.

"Hey—Granger!" he barked at her, giving her a proper shake. "Wake up, sleeping beauty! Now is not the time for napping."

"Lemme'lone," she slurred, burrowing her face into the side of his neck.

He shuddered, and wanted to drop her all over again—except this time from something vastly different from anger. "Wouldn't have taken you for a snuggler," he muttered.

"Mm…but you smell nice," she murmured. Her voice was so thick he could barely make out what she said.

"You need to stay awake, or I'll leave your sorry ass on the floor," he told her sternly. "I'm not carrying you to the hospital ward. Come on."

"Fine," she muttered, and made an effort to keep step with him.

Draco decided that he infinitely preferred this Hermione to the usual. Her face didn't look half so bad when it wasn't pinched in indignation or the ragged intensity that so often was scrawled across it. She'd gone from a prickly cactus to a teddy bear. "Getting knocked out of your senses does you a world of good, you know that?" he told her as they staggered along.

"Ugh, thanks," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Much further?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

It was the slowest, most agonizing event of Draco's existence. They didn't run into a single soul, something that seemed almost… providential in its occurrence. Hermione wove in and out of consciousness, often rambling. She was downright batty, when she wasn't passed out in his arms—like some repressed little Ravenclaw with her first boyfriend.

They were finally getting close to their destination, when Draco could hear footsteps sounding down around the corner from their current position. Draco had never really considered himself a praying man, but he found himself pleading with whatever powers may have existed for them to grant him mercy.

Snape came billowing around the walkway, right as. Draco figured this was the best he could have hoped for short of Madame Pomfrey, and thanked his lucky stars. If it had been Pothead or Weasel, he would have most likely been hexed into kingdom come, and probably along with Miss Granger as collateral damage of their hasty attempts at chivalrous rescue.

Snape didn't look like he was about to attempt any such gallant behavior, though he did look plenty confused (and more than a little disgusted) with Draco's current predicament.

"I know. I feel the same way," Draco said sharply before any snide questions could be raised. "Just… help me get her to the ward, okay?" It was as close to civil as the boy knew how to get, and Snape took it for the desperate cry for help that it truly was.

"What happened?" Snape inquired, staring down his long hooked nose at Draco imperiously. The man certainly knew how to use his superior height to his advantage.

"I need to find Professor Clarke. We were cleaning out the closets in the Defense Room."

"He had you _what_?" Snape demanded, suddenly studying Hermione's eyes with something very close to concern. "What was he thinking? Those haven't been cleaned in _years_! The sorts of things that accumulate in corners of this school shouldn't be—" He came up short, pressing his thin lips together in a taut line. Sometimes, Draco actually suspected Snape of having far more of a soul than he let on to.

"Don't just stand there. Go find the Professor. Perhaps something can be done. Hopefully there is no lasting damage, though that will be difficult to determine." He cast a disdainful look down at the unconscious girl in his arms. "Fantastic. She's drooling."

Then again, maybe he was just a cold hearted bastard. Draco felt an odd resistance to leave, but he forced his feet to turn and carry him off toward the Charms classroom. He cracked open the door and saw the two men hunched and talking. Well, considering Clarke's higher latitude, he was really the one who was hunched, while Flitwick was standing on a stool. Focus, he ground out silently to himself. "Professor Clarke, could I speak to you for a moment? It's about the… the closets we were organizing."

Clarke took one good, steady look at him, and his eyes widened in alarm. "You'll have to excuse me, Professor Flitwick. I need to talk to my detentionees."

"No worries," Flitwick waved a hand through the air dismissively, studying a scroll intently. "I've nearly finished here. Thank you for your help."

Clarke swept out of the room, motioning for Draco to keep ahead of him. "We can walk while you talk. Which direction? Healing wards?"

"Yes," Draco watched his feet, keeping pace with Clarke's long strides. "Snape's with her."

"What happened? Quickly, and precisely."

"She found a box, and she opened it. There was a flower inside. She touched it. She… passed out. That's all I know."

"A box with a flower? What happened to it?"

"I slammed it shut and threw it in the back of the closet."

"You're sure it was the flower?"

Draco bit off the curse words that were about to come flooding out. "Y-Yes, Professor. I could smell it. Strong, and overpowering. Like… my grandma, except it smelled good."

"I want to see her right now," Clarke explained, pausing outside the door. "Can you go get the box? Don't open it again—just bring it here. Can you do that?"

"I don't—" Draco stammered, not wanting to have to leave again. He wanted to see what they were going to do with Hermione. He was grateful he didn't have time to analyze why he was feeling so stubborn about certain things.

"Can you do that?" Clarke repeated insistently, in a way that was nothing short of a command.

Draco grit his teeth and nodded begrudgingly, realizing that more detentions would probably ensue if he refused. Professor Clarke joined Snape in the healer's ward. Their rushed conversation melted away into grey nothing as he raced back toward the Defense classroom. Sliding into the closet, he lit his wand with a twist and a sharp hiss of _Lumos_. He groped around in the shadows where he had thrown the disastrous box, and came staggering out with it, both him and his prized object coated in dust.

He had never hated the distance between two points more in his life, he realized as he once more traversed the considerable distance between the class and the ward. If only they were allowed to apparate within Hogwarts, life would be so much easier.

He broke into the ward without a second thought, and his eyes locked on Hermione's still form lying on the bed before he registered anything else. Some panic in him quieted at seeing her, just a little, for a moment. Then, it mounted again. "Why isn't she moving?"

Clarke stepped forward, as Snape remained at Hermione's side, passing a wand over her pale form and muttering beneath his breath.

"Perhaps you should leave," Clarke suggested gently.

"No," Draco ground out, reigning himself in. "I was involved. I want to see it resolved."

Whatever Snape thought of this declaration, he kept his witty remarks to himself.

"Is that the box that started all this trouble?" Clarke asked, then reached for it without waiting for an answer. "I'll take that off your hands."

'Don't open it,' Draco blurted, then bit his tongue as he realized who he was speaking to. Professor Clarke was silent a moment, then spun the box expertly in his hands, his fingers sliding knowingly along the joints and hinges. The box unfolded smoothly.

'Thank you for your concern,' Snape said dryly, finishing with his incantation and joining them, 'but I think Professor Clarke has some idea of what he's dealing with."

"Unfortunately, I think I do," Clarke stared at the deceptively harmless looking flower with a strange expression on his face that Draco couldn't quite pinpoint.

"Well? Will we be cutting short a bright, if obnoxious, future here at Hogwarts?" Snape inquired.

"Try to hold in your grief—I know it's hard," Clarke shot back, sniffing the bud delicately. The scent was heavy and yet somehow pale and thin. It was like a half-caught dream, lovely and snaring. Obliterating.

"Lethe," he surmised with a grimace.

"Lethe?" Snape asked quizzically. "As in the river?"

"Yes, and this flower itself is no innocent blossom," Clarke said, sliding the box shut. "Legends have spun around such enchantments. Apparently it's still got some kick even after nearly a thousand years."

"Legends?" Snape inquired. His dubiousness made itself obvious.

"Sleeping Beauty comes to mind," Clarke stated simply, shrugging.

Draco really couldn't contain the laugh that broke out of him, but he quickly reigned it in at the looks the two teachers shot his way. "Wait… you're serious?" Neither of them said anything. "Shutting up…" Draco muttered, studying his shoes intently.

He backed up out of their attention, dropping into an empty chair beside Hermione. He was surprised—she was no more paler than her usual bookworm self. In fact if anything, her cheeks had a healthy tinge to them as though the rest was doing her good. Her breathing was deep and measured, and her brow was smooth and untroubled, free from stress. He watched her, mesmerized by the simple rise and fall of her chest, completely unguarded and defenseless.

It was only a matter of time before the quiet was disturbed by the appearance of her irksome companions. They would, no doubt, blame him for the whole catastrophe, and attempt to hex him into the middle of next week. Draco shook his head, trying to ignore the dismal imaginings that suddenly crowded his thoughts. Maybe they would be able to figure out the solution, the antidote, before word spread through the school like wildfire.

Snape and Clarke were holding a hushed and hurried conversation, passing the box back and forth, pointing at the figures along the side. Draco's faint hopes sputtered and died. He sighed, his shoulders hunching forward as he buried his face in his hands.

He looked up at the sound of his name. Clarke was watching him with careful eyes; Snape was sweeping out the door behind him.

"What's going on?" Draco asked, bolting to his feet.

"Nothing to worry over. Snape is going to try to get in touch with Dumbledore, who's out for the evening. Unfortunately, he also took Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall with him to some sort of event in the city. He's going to try to get that sorted. I'm going to try to speak with a colleague of mine who knows quite a bit on this sort of thing. Would you mind keeping an eye on her for just a little longer?" There was a grim look in Clarke's eye that sent a shudder of foreboding down Draco's spine.

"No," he said automatically, nodding stiffly. Clarke was gone before he could even finish processing what he had assented to. Alone, with _her_. Again.

Funny, he didn't feel nearly so angry as he would have expected. The moments dragged by, as though time had altered. Each second was silent and huge. Draco wished there was someone else in the room with him, yet he was grateful that it was only him.

He paced the room restlessly while the shadows lengthened beyond the windows, not bothering to light the lamps as darkness fell. He stood at the end of her bed as the light died behind him in a brilliant splash of red and orange, tracing her too-still features again and again for any sign of movement.

"Granger, what were you thinking?" he murmured. He fell back into his seat. Her hand lay at her side, and he found himself fixated with the small, fragile form of it. Frustrated, he tried to redirect his attention, muttering something about her stupidity and bookish impracticality in real-life situations involving common sense, but the words were hollow and fell numbly to the ground in the heavy stillness. And her fingers were so thin and pale, and they looked so cold.

He didn't feel anything like himself, but he couldn't help his own curiosity as he reached out and poked her hand. It was surprisingly warm. Bemused, he ran a fingertip along the delicate knuckles, so small and weak and breakable. She was so breakable.

Draco was standing over her before he had any comprehension of it. Her hand rested safe and warm in his, and there was something foreign holding him where he was, calling and pulling at him. The magic was running strong in him now, though he was unaware of it. It fed off of his weakness, off of the hurt that festered inside of him, the ache for belonging and for comfort. For someone who would not try to control him, for something different than everything else he had ever known and had forced on him. For substance, and not for the flash of bravado. For the earth, for solid firmness beneath him. A refuge.

All of this, everything that was splintered, it grabbed hold of and used to push him further. It lit fire, kindled what lay dormant.

She was so small, and so strong. She seemed like something that would fracture and snap under his touch, under his rage, but she only ever struck back as good as she took. She was fire and fierce determination, and her will was as stubborn and as concrete as his own.

She was a vast ocean of things he had never known before. Everything he had despised so disdainfully all his life. An entirely different world, contained within his own.

Caught up in his thoughts, he was startled when she murmured and shifted, and her fingers tightened around his own. He froze, panic stabbing deep into his gut. He tried to extricate his fingers, but they were tangled with her own. He swore softly, stooping over her. A curl had fallen across her cheek, and he was brushing it away before he could think better of the act. Her cheek was smooth and soft, and he traced down the line of her jaw, marveling.

Stooping, he leaned close, his lips brushing against her ear. She was so blissfully dead to the world. "Because no one will ever know…" he murmured, cupping her cheek. He pressed his lips to hers softly. It was nothing sappy, but it was firm and gentle, a mark. A silent declaration..

He fell back into his seat. His father would kill him for that. His own mother would have feinted dead away. Grandma would have disowned him. But they weren't there. Only she was.

Draco sighed, dragging his hand free and folding his arms over his chest. The room was dark and ever-so-slightly creepy. Had anyone ever died here, he wondered, huddling a bit. He didn't feel like himself.

Her lips had been soft and rough, chapped from the cold weather. She tasted like nothing else—not the sticky sweetness of strawberry lipgloss, not like anything he could put a name to.

He banged his head back against the wall. Where had Professor Clarke got off to? What about Snape? They had been here forever. Draco leaned back and closed his eyes. Despite his own estimations that there was no chance in hell that he would be able to fall asleep, he was lightly snoring inside of twenty minutes.

He didn't hear the rush of breath as Hermione's eyes opened. He missed seeing her bolt upright and look around with a wild terror in her eyes as she tried to talk herself down out of freaking out. Especially after she discovered that her wand was missing.

"Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm, stay calm," she repeated over and over in a panicked, loud whisper. A rather abrupt snore from Draco caught her ear, and she turned to face him in the dark. "Hello? Who's there?" she called.

Draco awoke to the decidedly unpleasant sound of someone yelling. He fumbled for his wand, slurring a rather sloppy _Lumos_ that managed to somehow do the trick. The glare blinded both of them temporarily.

"Draco?" Hermione all but shrieked.

Definitely more agreeable when she was unconscious, Draco decided groggily.

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At long last, an update. I've actually taken up writing again! Trying to get a feel for this story once more, and to speed things up a bit and get it really moving, and to make the chapters longer. It's been fun-i really like them, they're such a lively and dramatic couple to write. Hope you enjoy! Please review and let me know you're still following along and what you think!


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